


Defy the Odds

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Traveling Man [49]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 07:31:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16530182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Written for the SGA Reverse Big Bang. Rodney goes to soulmarker Evan Lorne so he can get his soulmark and find his soulmate. Featuring Evan's awesome culinary skills, the Four Chord song by the Axis of Awesome, and Garfield the (pet) cat.





	Defy the Odds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sexycazzy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexycazzy/gifts).



> Check out the art by the fabulous sexycazzy!
> 
> Thanks to the phenomenal Brumeier for her beta work and encouragement and Roundtressym for sharing her tattoo artist knowledge.

The difficult thing about being a soulmarker was that everyone seemed to think soulmarkers were mystical or psychic or spiritual, were bastions of calm and zen, so no one ever seemed to know what to do when Evan made a joke.

He was sitting in the mess hall having lunch when several Marines sat down at the table beside his. The mess hall was crowded enough that people were doubling up with others who weren’t their usual dining companions, but Evan was the Expedition’s soulmarker, and people still gave him a wide berth even though he’d been leading his own gate team and serving as Colonel Sheppard’s 2IC for over a year now.

Rodney was already at the table, and he eyed the Marines for a moment before sighing, long-suffering, and scooting over to make room.

“Hear you very nearly shot a rat today,” one of them said.

“Or was it a mouse?” another chimed in, and the rest of them laughed.

Rodney rolled his eyes. “Haha, very funny. Rats and mice spread the plague on Earth and twenty-five million people died, I’ll have you know. They’re more dangerous than they look.”

The Marines laughed again, shoving each other and nudging each other, and one of them accidentally jostled Evan.

He saw Evan, muttered a _sorry, sir,_ and went back to laughing with his friends.

“We’ll make sure to carry rat poison offworld from now on,” the first one said.

The second one said, “If you ever get a soulmark, you should get a mouse or a rat. They’re small and annoying but more dangerous than people think.”

“Or a chicken,” the first one said, and there was more laughter.

The truth was, soulmarks didn’t have to be profound images. They just had to be made by a trained tattoo artist using the right kind of ink, who had soulmates in their own families. Even then, not everyone who got the tattoo had a soulmate. Evan had a theory that Gene-carriers were more likely to find their soulmates, but he hadn’t mentioned it to anyone yet.

The SGC hadn’t been willing to spare a designated soulmarker when there was a risk that the expedition would be a one-way trip, but once contact with Earth was established, Evan was sent along. His primary duties were logistics, being Sheppard’s right hand man, and leading a gate team. But he was also there for anyone who wanted a soulmark.

Still, soulmarks were hardly a laughing matter, at least not to anyone who knew anything about them.

“Maybe a phoenix,” he said. “Because you always cheat death.”

The Marines’ laughter faded, and they turned to look at him.

Evan shrugged. “It’s better than a mouse or a rat.”

“I dunno, Major,” one of the other Marines said. “Isn’t the phoenix the symbol of a woman? In Chinese mythology.”

“Dr. McKay’s not Chinese,” Evan pointed out.

Rodney cleared his throat. “What matters is that today we got Colonel Sheppard back,” he said. He rose, scooped up his tray. “Later, jarheads. Major.” And he headed for the tray return line.

Evan couldn’t tell if he was moving at his usual hurried pace or if he was embarrassed or upset. He studied Rodney, admiring the line of his broad shoulders, the shape of his back. As a painter and a tattoo artist, he was always interested in beauty and art where he found it, and often found himself considering the potential canvases on other people’s bodies.

“Hey, Major?” One of the Marines cleared his throat nervously.

“Yes, Sergeant?”

“How many people have you given soulmarks to since you’ve been here?”

“Don’t ask, don’t tell, Sergeant.” Evan finished his meal, rose, and carried his tray to the return line.

There were exceptions to frat regs if people were soulmates, but usually the brass shifted one person out of the other’s chain of command ASAP, because frat regs were there for a reason. America was one of the few nations that guaranteed a soulmark as a human right, the right to seek that level of companionship and love.

The SGC had a vested interest in soulmarks, because the Goa’uld used a form of soulmarks to enslave the Jaffa.

And Daniel Jackson’s soulmark had started everything at Stargate Command. After his parents died, his guardians had taken him to a soulmarker so he could get a soulmark in hopes that he’d find a soulmate and find love and companionship to somehow make up for the loss of his parents. In an attempt to do something in their memory, they’d asked for his soulmark to be in the form a _wadjet,_ and when the Abydonians saw the symbol of their god on his body, they welcomed him and O’Neill and Kowalski and the rest of the team, gave him Shau’ri to wife, and the rest was (classified) history.

Truth was, Evan had only given out half a dozen soulmarks since he’d been assigned to Atlantis two years ago. He had a flash book of possible tattoos for just about every member of the expedition, though, images or symbols that he felt embodied who they were and what they were about from what little he knew of them.

If he were to perform a full formal soulmarking ritual, there was a series of getting-to-know-you exercises between the patron and the artist so that when a final soulmark was designed, it would be a symbol of the bearer. He’d learned the traditions, but as far as he knew no one but the very wealthy (who had the time to engage in the ritual) or the very conservative ever asked for the full ritual. Most patrons came with a design in mind, something they wanted even if they didn’t find their soulmate as a result, and Evan put that in their skin instead.

He’d considered Rodney McKay for a long, long time, and he hadn’t been able to conceptualize an ideal soulmark for the man. Till today. Once he was off duty, he’d open his sketchbook and start a design. Just in case.

*

Evan was coming off his morning run when he rounded a corner to his usual cool-down spot and almost crashed into Rodney.

“Whoa!” Evan skidded to a halt. “Doc. Didn’t see you there.”

“Unless you can see around corners, I’m not shocked,” Rodney said.

Evan was covered in sweat, his tank top soaked through, out of breath. Not how he wanted to look in front of Rodney. “Uh - I’m not on duty for another hour, but if you need something -”

“Were you serious?” Rodney asked.

Evan blinked. “About what?”

“About a phoenix, for a soulmark.”

Evan had been kind of cracking a joke, but a phoenix was a lovely creature. “Well -”

“Because I was doing some research, talking to the anthropologists as much as it pains me, and a phoenix has a lot of interesting analogues in other cultures, and I think - I think I’d like a phoenix. For a soulmark.”

Evan straightened up. “All right. I can do that. Did you have a design in mind?”

“Well - just something that doesn’t look too girly. So - not a Chinese phoenix,” Rodney said.

Evan nodded. “I can do that. Do you want me to design the flash and get straight to it, or would you rather do the full soulmark ritual?”

Rodney frowned. “Full soulmark ritual?”

Evan nodded again.

“What does the ritual entail?”

Evan cleared his throat. “It’s - lengthy. Typically we spend time regularly together over the course of four weeks getting to know each other so I can design a personalized mark for you. But if you have a design in mind -”

“What’s the point of the ritual?” Rodney asked. “Besides tradition.”

“Well, since a soulmark is permanent, most people want a design they’ll always like, that they won’t end up regretting, and getting a tattoo can be a kind of intimate experience, so the ritual allows us to get to know each other better,” Evan said.

Rodney eyed him, and Evan was terribly self-conscious about how gross and sweaty he was. He wanted to do his cooldown stretches and hop in the shower.

“Four weeks, you say?”

“A full lunar cycle, per Earth tradition, but of course Lantea has multiple moons, so -”

Rodney nodded. “All right. Let’s do it. Full shebang. When do we get started?”

“Um - I need to shower and get dressed and report for duty, but we can talk at lunch and work out a schedule. Things are unpredictable, of course, given our mission schedules, but we can make it happen.” Evan smiled.

“Right. Shower. Of course. You’re very - shiny right now.” Rodney cleared his throat. “I’ll see you at lunch.”

“Thanks, Doc. Lunch.” Evan waved.

Rodney walked away.

Evan glanced at his watch. Damn. He was off schedule. He’d have to do some stretches in the shower. Might be nice with the hot water.

*

As Evan went about his morning duties - checking in with his team, checking in with the Marine SFs, going over the supply numbers - he pondered the soulmarking ritual. It was supposed to engage all five senses to allow the patron to become more open to experiences, and to teach the artist about the patron’s preferences and also more about them as a person.

The first stage of the ritual was a shared meal, for taste and smell. Evan knew Rodney had food allergies and also knew, for the most part, what his favorite meals were, since he oversaw the KP Marines and they reported to him about what meals were popular and with whom, partially because serving food no one liked was a waste and also because a man never knew when he might need to grease some wheels with a finely-crafted meal.

Evan drifted through the chow line, got a carb-heavy meal knowing that he and his team would be on a long offworld march that afternoon, and sat down at a table, dug in, considering a menu.

“Major.”

Evan lifted his head.

Rodney stood beside Evan’s table, lunch tray in hand. “You have time to talk?”

Evan nodded. “Sure. Have a seat. And you can call me Evan if you want.” He offered a smile. In his soulmarker training he’d been taught about managing people, helping people manage their own emotions, how to get them to de-escalate when things got heated. For the most part he’d had to use that training as a military officer, because up to this point no had ever asked for the full ritual. Most people considered a soulmark a tattoo with a perk, and that was that.

Rodney frowned for a moment, considering, then plopped down opposite Evan with a hideous scraping of his chair. If he’d been trying to be subtle, he’d failed.

“What does this ritual entail, exactly? I mean, I’m prepared to do whatever it takes short of permanent maiming or other self-harm - that’s so unhygienic - but I’ve walked into living shadows and faced down Wraith and almost drowned in a Jumper, so I’m prepared.”

“The first stage of the ritual is dinner,” Evan said.

Rodney blinked. “Dinner?”

“Yes.”

“But that’s so -”

“Banal?” Evan asked.

Rodney nodded, then narrowed his eyes. “You pronounced that the French way.”

“Learned a bit of French as a kid,” Evan said, because French was important to the study of art, as was Italian.

“What kind of dinner?” Rodney asked. “Do I have to hunt something with my bare hands and plain wits? Not that my wits are plain.”

Evan shook his head. “Look, there’s nothing mystical about soulmates. I’m sure as a scientist you can appreciate that what seems like magic is actually science we don’t understand well.”

“True.”

“Well, being soulmates is what amounts to a genetic condition, which is why some people have soulmates and some people don’t, and some people can be soulmarkers and some people can’t. The ritual isn’t designed to test your worthiness. I’m here because under the United States Constitution, which I’ve sworn to uphold and defend, people have the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, and finding your soulmate is part of the pursuit of happiness.”

“I’m not American,” Rodney said.

“Well, I am, and when I was ordered to Atlantis as a designated soulmarker, no one said my time and talents were limited to American citizens.”

Relief tempered some of the suspicion in Rodney’s expression. “Then what is this dinner about? Can we have dinner tonight and call it good?”

“This dinner is about me getting to know you,” Evan said. “The ritual is for you to engage all of your senses and for me to learn your preferences and desires, to learn more about _you_ so the tattoo I design for you is representative of you, is one you’ll be glad to wear all your life.”

“But I already know I want a phoenix,” Rodney said.

Evan nodded. “You say that now, but remember, a tattoo is permanent, and serious business, so - is this your first tattoo?” Rodney had never struck him as the tattoo type, but one could never tell. Most people assumed Evan had no tattoos till they learned he was a soulmarker, and then they wondered why he had no visible tattoos (because regs was why).

Rodney nodded.

“All right, then. A tattoo is a pretty serious endeavor, and depending on the size of the tattoo you want, a pretty huge time commitment. Depending on how well you can sit still. So if you’re going to get one done, you should be sure, and also the design possibilities for a phoenix are almost endless. Spending this time with you will give me a better sense of what you might want.”

“We can talk over dinner tonight,” Rodney said.

“I don’t know if I’ll be here for dinner - my team has an offworld mission today,” Evan said.

“Oh. Right. Of course. That is short notice. When works for you?” Rodney powered up his datapad to check his schedule.

“Give me five days,” Evan said, “to make the arrangements.”

“Arrangements?” Rodney echoed. “What, are you going to be doing all the cooking?”

Evan nodded. It was the preferred method, but of course not every soulmarker was a cook. Historically a soulmarker was a full-time profession, separate from a tattoo artist, and it required a lifetime of training, including in all the skills required for the full ritual.

“Oh. Well, in that case, I’m -”

“Allergic to citrus, hypoglycemic, but rather enamored of chocolate,” Evan said.

Rodney eyed him. “How do you know that?”

“I oversee the kitchen Marines.”

“Oh. Well. I look forward to - are you any good at cooking?”

“I promise you won’t get food poisoning,” Evan said.

“There’s a lot of room between good food and food poisoning,” Rodney said.

Amelia crackled over Evan’s radio. “Major Lorne, Colonel Sheppard needs to see you before you embark on your mission this afternoon.”

Evan nodded, tapped his radio. “Roger that. What’s his twenty?”

Rodney furrowed his brow, confused. Evan gestured to his radio earpiece.

“The command office,” Amelia said.

“Roger that. I’ll be there ASAP.” Evan said to Rodney, “I have to go. Pre-mission meeting with Colonel Sheppard. See you in five days, barring any mission complications.”

“Five days,” Rodney echoed. “Major. Evan.”

Evan smiled, then hurried to return his tray and meet Sheppard.

*

Prosopagnosia. A fancy word that meant that, however brilliant Rodney was, however much of a genius he was, he was never getting far in the world, because everyone thought he was a stuck-up asshole, and there was nothing he could do to change it. He never smiled at people when they smiled at him while he was walking across campus. He could never be bothered to learn people’s names. He was terrible at making eye contact. And he didn’t give a damn about social cues or graces.

At first he’d tried to explain himself, but after a while he gave up. People didn’t try with him, so why bother trying with them? Either they appreciated his genius or they didn’t, and there wasn’t much he could do about it. If the world needed beauty and vanity to make scientific advances, then it didn’t deserve someone who was unhindered by shallow human perception.

Working with the military was ideal, because everyone wore name tags on their uniforms, and if they didn’t, well, Rodney got really good at recognizing rank insignias, and he could remember that there was a General Jamison and a Captain Carter and a Lieutenant Lewis and a Major Morris. Also, the military didn’t care much about beauty or manners (since Rodney wasn’t a military officer and could remain aloof from the chain of command); they only cared about results.

And Rodney could deliver results.

Things for Rodney were terrible at the SGC, because not everyone had names on their uniforms, and hardly anyone had rank insignias on their uniforms. He recognized that Captain Carter made brilliant observations and had nice curves, that Colonel O’Neill had surprisingly graceful hands when he gestured as he spoke, but beyond that - well.

Russia was a nightmare, because everyone wore lab coats and no one spoke English, and Rodney didn’t know enough Russian to be able to tell where a rank ended and someone’s name began. Antarctica wasn’t much better, because none of the scientists wore name tags, and most of the military personnel didn’t either.

John Sheppard, though. He had his name on his uniform. Also, he had the Gene, and that curious black wristband, and a distinct voice. It was a pleasant enough voice, but more than that, it was distinct. If Rodney focused on his voice and his wristband (which seemed like it wouldn’t be regulation, but Sheppard never took it off), he could spot him every time. Also, because he hadn’t started as SGC personnel, he wore a regular uniform, and for the most part he had his name written on it. John Sheppard was the lynchpin. Between Daniel Jackson discovering the gate address to Atlantis - eight symbols instead of seven - and John Sheppard having the Gene, the Expedition to Atlantis was a surefire thing.

Rodney couldn’t wait to go. The best and brightest of humanity - who had few ties to Earth (and most of the brightest stars were also the loneliest) - would be shipping off to a new galaxy to make amazing discoveries. It’d be perfect for him. All the science and brilliance, none of the stupid Earth-based politics hampering him. Sure, the military had goals, and Elizabeth Weir - she had a lovely voice and also a bright red uniform shirt that hardly anyone else was assigned - was soft at heart, but this was Rodney’s chance to really shine.

Aiden Ford had a distinctive voice and way of moving, and even if it sounded a little racist, well, Rodney remembered his dark skin. Teyla’s voice was beautiful - soothing and warm and a little deeper for a woman’s, like Elizabeth’s. Rodney was a musician, and even if he hadn’t touched a piano in decades, he still had a musician’s ear, could pick out notes and voices better than most. John always wore his black wristband, and the four of them on a gate team _worked._

Until the Wraith siege and everything fell apart.

But with the Wraith siege came establishment of contact with Earth, which meant regular supplies and some of the comforts of home, new personnel and equipment, and a chance for Rodney to show off his progress. The databurst compression? Was genius, even for him. Vast amounts of data in mere seconds, across two galaxies.

Rodney first noticed Major Lorne because, well, he was sarcastic. Sometimes it took Rodney a moment to hear sarcasm, but he could hear it from Major Lorne well. Also, the man had a very pleasant voice, light and warm, a high baritone or low tenor. And he had tattoos. Rodney might have been awful at remembering faces, but awful at remembering bodies he was not. John Sheppard was slender, lean, graceful. Aiden had been youthful, muscular. Teyla and Elizabeth both had fine figures. Ronon had a very fit, fine figure and a tattoo on the side of his neck, a deep rumbling voice and very low-key humor. Lorne had broad shoulders, golden skin, and tattoos - one on his upper right arm, and some kind of design on the left side of his chest, possibly over his heart, though Rodney had only seen the edges of it peeking above the collar of the tank top Lorne wore when he went running.

Rodney wasn’t particularly romantic, as anyone he’d tried to have a relationship with would well attest (though he was fantastic in bed; plenty of people would also well attest to that). He knew there was science behind the function of soulmarks, not magic, and that they represented the potential for deep compatibility between people, but not a relationship guarantee. For someone like Rodney, a soulmark seemed like a magnificent way to discover - and maintain - a relationship. What mattered more than his soulmate’s face was their soulmark, a tattoo - either innocuous or specially-designed - that _moved,_ became animated and alive when they met and the bond was formed. Rodney would never forget who his soulmate was, because he’d always be able to recognize their soulmark.

So when Rodney learned that Major Lorne was also a designated soulmarker, he was intrigued. The man had tattoos, but neither of them were animate. He was also a military officer, John’s second-in-command, head of logistics, and commanding officer of his own gate team. Would Major Lorne give Rodney the time of day when it came to getting a soulmark? Really nice ones were expensive. Rodney didn’t know what he wanted anyway. Plus other things kept happening - space vampires, nuclear-capable Amish, other disasters and enemies - and Rodney never had the chance to really inquire more about the issue.

And then one day Lorne suggested it. A design for a soulmark. A phoenix, because Rodney constantly defied death.

The Marines sitting at Rodney’s lunch table - whoever they were; he never even tried to learn their names - were rude and derisive, but Lorne had sounded serious. Possibly deadpan, but mostly serious.

After that, the notion fixed in Rodney’s head, and he couldn’t let it go.

He asked around, found out Major Lorne’s running route, and intercepted him right at the end.

And now he was going to go through the full soulmark ritual so he could, hopefully, find someone who’d be deeply compatible with him, someone who would overlook or understand his faults, his quirks, his shortcomings.

Rodney McKay was face-blind.

*

“Hey,” Rodney said to John over dinner a couple of days after he’d spoken to Evan, “what do you know about the whole soulmark ritual?”

“Long. Complicated. Expensive,” John said. “Why?”

“Just curious.” Rodney shrugged.

“I did not realize there were rituals surrounding the acquisition of a soulmark,” Teyla said, because her people had a taboo against tattoos due to the Wraith having their weird face tattoos (although those tattoos meant Rodney was pretty good at telling the Wraith apart and recognizing them - not that he ever wanted to meet any of them for an extended period or more than once).

“We have some rituals, on Sateda,” Ronon said, putting a hand to the tattoo on his neck for a moment. It represented his military rank. Did they become more ornate as he was promoted? Or did he get more tattoos? “But they’re not very fancy. You just have to grit your teeth and let it happen.”

Rodney knew tattoos could hurt, but it sounded like on Sateda the pain itself was part of the ritual, and he wasn’t a fan of that.

“Tell me more about these rituals?” Teyla asked, because she was often curious about that kind of thing.

It made sense, as she was her people’s political ambassador a lot of the time. Knowing about other cultures, understanding them, and respecting them was related to her people’s survival.

John shrugged. His shoulders seemed tense, but Rodney was bad at reading people’s expressions. “Don’t know much about them, other than that they’re long and drawn-out. Wouldn’t do it myself, if I were getting a soulmark.”

“You don’t have one?” Ronon asked. “But weren’t you married?”

“Don’t have to have a soulmark to have a happy relationship or be married,” John said.

“You were married?” Teyla asked.

“Were,” John said flatly.

Teyla sounded a little perplexed. “Rodney, have you ever been married?”

“To science,” he said, as loftily as he could muster.

Ronon huffed, amused. “Right.”

Rodney continued eating. If he pursued inquiry into the question of soulmarks, his teammates would get suspicious, and he really didn’t want anyone else to know about his plans to get one.

There was no harm in inquiring further about Evan, though.

So the next day, in the lab, Rodney asked Radek what he thought of Evan. Evan was John’s second-in-command the way Radek was Rodney’s. Surely they knew each other well.

“Evan? He is nice. Why?” Radek and Rodney were working on their own version of Project Arcturus. If they did it in the background, as a hobby, there was no pressure, and unlike the Ancients, they could get it right.

“Why does everyone ask that?” Rodney protested.

“You just do not usually care about people,” Radek said.

Rodney fixed him with an unimpressed look. “Yes, I fling myself into mortal peril on a regular basis with my team because I’m a heartless bastard.”

“Obviously you care about your gate team,” Radek said, and added something under his breath in Czech that was probably a comment about how crazy Rodney was for being on a gate team.

“I know Major Lorne is nice,” Rodney said.

“He is hardworking, efficient.”

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know. We have been coworkers for over a year now.” Rodney studied his share of the calculations.

“He is a natural Gene carrier.”

Rodney hadn’t known that. “That is new. But - beyond work. What’s he _like?”_

“He’s handsome,” Miko offered.

“I wasn’t asking you,” Rodney muttered, because he didn’t want to go there. He had no notion of whether people were attractive or not, at least not their faces.

Lindsay said, “He’s an amazing cook.”

Now _that_ was useful information. “How do you know that?” Rodney asked.

“Most of the really fancy desserts in the mess hall are his recipes,” Lindsay said. She was sitting at the workbench beside Radek and Rodney’s; she and Miko were working on making the desalination system more efficient.

“Yes,” Miko chimed in. “His grandmother trained at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris. She taught him everything he knows. Or so he says.”

Dinner with Evan was sounding pretty good. If dinner was part of the soulmark ritual, were all soulmarkers good cooks? No matter. The soulmarker Rodney cared about was Evan, and this soulmark ritual was sounding like a good idea after all. Even if the rest of the ritual was lame, Rodney could get a gourmet meal out of it.

“He is also a very skilled artist,” Miko continued.

“He would have to be, as a soulmarker.” Rodney rolled his eyes.

Lindsay laughed. “Not so. I have seen some _ugly_ tattoos in my time.”

“But he paints,” Miko said. “And he draws. Have you seen some of his drawings? They look like photographs.”

That was also encouraging. Evan was both a good cook and a good artist. What did it take, to become a government-sponsored designated soulmarker? Usually government employees were the ones who failed upward.

“He is very careful,” Radek said finally. “He pays attention to detail.”

That was something Rodney definitely appreciated. But he didn’t want anyone else to know that. “He’d have to be, to make a photograph out of a drawing.”

But he was decided. He was going through with the soulmark ritual for sure.

*

As much as long offworld marches were the boring part of a mission, Evan didn’t mind them because, well, they were boring. Boring meant no peril. Boring meant things were okay, that his team was safe. Of course, boring could be dangerous, so he had everyone rotate positions - himself included - every fifteen minutes so no one got complacent about the field of view they were covering.

Long offworld marches meant Evan could take in the alien scenery, the flora and fauna, the little details - blue-veined leaves, neon pink flowers, scaly green tree trunks - that made planets _otherworldly_ instead of _yay, more trees._ The botanists loved the variety they found on various planets, because it taught them a lot about the ecology of each planet, what kind of life thrived there or didn’t, and possibilities for making different plants thrive on new planets. Even if hanging around any scientists for a long stretch of time could try Evan’s patience and attention span, he was curious, wanted to learn more about Pegasus too.

He wanted to learn more about a certain scientist in particular.

“What do you guys think of Rodney?”

“Dr. McKay?” Reed asked. Of all of Evan’s teammates, he was the most straight-laced, came from a conservative Christian family, prayed every morning and night and had never had a drop of liquor. “He’s brilliant. A lifesaver.”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure I’d want him on my desert island.” Coughlin had grown up in foster care, had a distrust of authority that seemed at odds with the armed forces, but he also thrived on routine and stability, preferred to take orders instead of give them.

“Desert island?” Billick echoed. He was from the deep South, had a heavy drawl, came from a long line of Marines, as far back as the Civil War.

Coughlin nodded, scanned the left side of the semi-worn path they were walking, peering into the trees. According to Teyla, the path would take them to the village that was the main population center on the planet, and there they could possibly trade for some useful spices. “You know, if you get stuck on a desert island, who’d you want with you?”

“McKay could find us a way off the island,” Reed said.

“Ah.” Billick made a face. “Nope, not McKay, not if I was a desperate ugly girl and he was the last man on Earth. If I were stuck on a desert island, I’d want - Colonel Carter. If not her, maybe Dr. Kusanagi. She’s a college-level judo champion. She’d hold her own against feral crocodiles or whatever dangers the desert island held.”

Reed snorted, scanned to the right again. “We fight space vampires and nuclear Amish on a regular basis and the best monster you can come up with is a crocodile?”

“Hey, don’t tempt fate,” Billick protested.

“Doc McKay is for sure the kind of guy who lived in his mother’s basement till he joined the SGC,” Coughlin said. “For sure he stays in her basement when he’s on leave.”

“The only person who could love him is his mother,” Billick agreed.

“Hey now,” Evan said, a little sharply. “Dr. McKay is a respected member of this expedition, and he’s saved all our lives more than once. Show a little respect. He’s done things most red-blooded Marines wouldn’t do for a million dollars.”

Reed eyed him. “Why do you ask, sir?”

“Just curious,” Evan said.

“He likes cats. Has a picture of a cat on his workbench,” Reed said.

How had Evan not noticed that? He’d have to look the next time he was in the lab. Would some kind of feline - maybe a big cat, like a lion - be a better soulmark? Rodney was stuck on a phoenix now, but -

“Studies do show that people with higher IQs on average prefer cats over dogs,” Billick said.

Coughlin made a rude noise. _“What?”_

Reed said, without missing a beat, “He fancies Doc Jones in zoology. Listens to her talk a lot when he’s being gene on deck in the lab.”

Billick shoved his shoulder. “Shut up.”

Evan sighed. “Fifteen minutes is up. Rotate.” He’d have to go into the soulmark ritual considering Rodney more or less tabula rasa, then, and build each stage of the ritual out of what he learned on previous ones. That was all right. He was a trained soulmarker and an Air Force officer. Managing people was something he could do.

As was planning elaborate meals. His mother and grandmother had taught him that cuisine was an art as much as his painting, drawing, and tattooing, that it had to engage the senses and be delightful to as many senses as possible. Evan’s mother and grandmother, however, had never tried to plan a haute cuisine meal in a distant galaxy without the benefit of a supermarket or fresh butchers and greengrocers.

By the time they’d made it to the village, spoken to the locals, and arranged for a return trip by an actual trade team, Evan had the entire menu designed. He knew how many courses it had to have, and he was pretty sure he had a line on some fine china, silverware, crystalware, and linens. He knew which rec room he wanted to use - he’d talk to Chuck and Amelia, make sure he had it reserved, get some Marines to rearrange the furniture for him - and he was pretty sure he knew what he wanted the lighting design to be.

Rounding up ingredients was easy, on the one hand, because Evan was the chief logistics officer on base and oversaw the kitchens specifically, so he always knew what food supplies were like, and he could have what he wanted set aside. Compared to the hundreds of personnel who had to be fed each day, a meal for two was a drop in the bucket. On the other hand, with the menu Evan had planned, sourcing some of the more exotic ingredients was going to be tough. Evan, however, had been managing food supplies in Pegasus for over a year now, and he knew which local substitutes were just as good as the Earth originals. If not better.

“You’re smiling, sir,” Reed said.

“Oh man. You know what they say - when the DM is smiling, it’s already too late.” Coughlin cast Evan a sidelong glance as they headed back to the Stargate.

“You know I like it when plans come together,” Evan said.

Billick nudged Coughlin. “Bet you a pretty lady is involved.”

Reed said primly, “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“Says the gentleman who’s never kissed,” Coughlin said, and Billick hooted.

Reed rolled his eyes. “You do know I’m married, right?”

Evan said, “Rotate,” before things could get any more awkward.

*

Rodney wasn’t sure what a pre-soulmark ritual dinner entailed, but Evan did give him a time and place for their meal about a week after their conversation in the mess hall, so after a long day in the labs, Rodney went back to his quarters, showered, shaved, and put on a nice outfit. One he hadn’t worn since that ill-fated date with Katie Brown, he realized. He did look good in it, though. And he was gratified that it still fit a year later.

Ten minutes before the meal was supposed to start, Rodney headed for a transporter, programmed in the coordinates for a floor where a bunch of rec rooms were located. Many of the rec rooms were being used, doors open wide, conversation and music and laughter floating into the hallway. Rodney walked past those, and then he saw a room with a closed door and two Marines standing guard.

He hesitated. The Marines looked - serious. On alert.

But one of them saw him and tapped his radio. “Tango has landed.”

Rodney’s heart sped up a little bit. He didn’t know why he was nervous. He was going to receive a soulmark no matter what. He didn’t have to pass a test. This was just - dinner.

The other Marine opened the door and gestured for Rodney to enter. He’d faced down Wraith. He’d walked into Lovecraftian alien darkness. He could have dinner with a coworker.

Only when he stepped into the rec room, it wasn’t bright and cheery like the ones he’d passed, instead softly lit by LEDs in paper lanterns strung from the ceiling. There was a long table as a sideboard against one of the walls and a single table set for two in the middle of the room, and otherwise there was no furniture. Evan was standing behind one of the chairs. He smiled.

“Rodney, c’mon in, have a seat.”

The table was laid with a fine linen tablecloth, set with fine china, real silverware and crystalware, with a small sprig of some alien blossom in a little bud vase in the middle.

The rec room had been turned into, well, the perfect venue for a romantic dinner for two. Not that Rodney had ever pulled off anything this romantic.

Wait, was it supposed to be romantic? If Evan went to pull Rodney’s chair out for him - he was no woman.

But Evan made no move to do any such thing, so Rodney seated himself.

There were silver cloches over the plates on the table.

“This is very - fancy,” Rodney offered finally.

Evan was removing the cloches from both of their plates. “The meal is so you can engage your senses of taste and smell, but of course if you’re going to make a fine meal, it should look good as well.” He carried them over to the side table, where other dishes covered by cloches were waiting.

Rodney smoothed his serviette - also fine linen - across his knees nervously. “True that. You do this often?”

“Often enough,” Evan said, sitting opposite Rodney. “But tonight’s not about me, it’s about you. So - first course: butter lettuce salad with tomato vinaigrette, bleu cheese, bacon, shallots, and pepitas.”

“Bacon. Bacon is always a good choice.” Rodney had been to his fair share of fancy dinners, knew which forks to use, so he scooped up the salad fork and dug in. “Hmm. That’s got some kick to it, but I’m not afraid of a little spice. What do you need to know about me? You already know what food I like.”

“Contrary to the proper aphorism, a man is more than what he eats,” Evan said. “Tell me about _you._ Who you are, what makes you tick.”

“I was born and raised in Canada,” Rodney offered, because while he could be witheringly honest about himself, there were some things he just - didn’t want to talk about. Ever.

“As evidenced by the uniform you wear almost every day,” Evan said drily.

“I grew up in Toronto,” Rodney said. “Went to school there. Sat for le bac, did my undergrad at MIT, where I majored in physics and engineering, mostly mechanical, but with a minor in electrical, and also a minor in astrophysics. I earned both of my PhDs at CalTech. Worked in corporate research for a while before the Air Force noticed my brilliance and took me on, and then I worked at Area 51, and then with the Russian counterpart to the SGC in Siberia, and then Antarctica.”

“After Siberia, Antarctica must not have been so bad,” Evan said.

“Well, Antarctica got me here,” Rodney said.

“Why physics?” Evan asked. He was dressed nicely as well, but then this occasion was professional for him, so of course he’d look nice. He had a nice chest under that blue button-down shirt.

“Well, physics is the building-blocks of the universe. Chemistry? Is really physics at its core. Same with biology. Every adult around me growing up was stupid, and their explanations for why the world works the way it does - like saying it rains when angels are crying - were idiotic. If I wanted to know how things worked, I had to learn myself. And the answer is in physics,” Rodney said. “Engineering was a natural fit. Being able to engineer devices that demonstrate physics principles - especially new principles - is an invaluable skill, when it comes to theoretical physics. Or saving my team on the fly offworld during an emergency.”

Evan nodded. He was eating on pace with Rodney, who had somehow finished his salad despite his long monologue.

Most people weren’t interested in hearing Rodney talk about himself for long stretches. As beautiful as the setting was, this felt less like a date and more like a job interview.

Rodney set down his salad fork, and Evan was out of his seat, carrying both their plates to the side table and bringing back two new plates. He removed those silver cloche covers - where had Evan found all this fine dining equipment? - and carried those back to the table.

Soup.

Rodney scanned the side table again. Ten cloche covers total. Five courses. Of course.

“Butternut apple squash soup,” Evan said, sitting down again.

Rodney, who’d scooped up a spoonful, paused. “Apple?”

“Green apple,” Evan said. “The tartness of it should offset the natural sweetness of the squash.”

That sounded dubious, but Rodney had a taste anyway. It was surprisingly good. The soup was creamy, had a hint of fall spices. “I can’t really taste the apple in the mix, but it does taste good. Where do you find these recipes?”

“I have a box of them,” Evan said. “Collected over the years. I’m glad you approve. So - school. Triple major, double minor, then double PhD. How long did that take?”

“Not as long as you think. I ran circles around pretty much every teacher or professor I had till grad school. Besides, I graduated from high school when I was sixteen.” School was something Rodney could talk about, because despite being thoroughly disliked by peers and staff, he’d done well, because his brilliance couldn’t be denied. “By the time I was done with grad school, I was twenty-six. Ten years of higher education.”

Evan raised his eyebrows. “Impressive.”

Most of the time it was hard for Rodney to tell if someone was being sarcastic or sincere, but with Evan it was usually pretty clear in his voice.

“I’m not exaggerating when I say I’m a genius.”

“Obviously not. Was it hard, going to college at sixteen?”

“MIT attracts many fine young minds, so I was housed with other intellectually advanced similarly-aged peers,” Rodney said.

“That sounds appropriate.”

Rodney left out the part where most of his peers had been foreign nationals, and save the one girl from Morocco who’d spoken French, he’d been unable to communicate with any of them, and they’d pretty much ignored him because he didn’t eat citrus - which featured heavily in seemingly everyone else’s dishes - and wasn’t one to sit around a pot of rice and reminisce about home.

“What did you enjoy about school?” Evan asked.

“Learning. Understanding new things. Making new discoveries.”

Evan nodded for him to continue.

If there was one thing Rodney could do, it was ramble on at length about the parts of science that fascinated him, especially the parts that other scientists didn’t care about. Having a captive audience was actually kind of nice. Of course, how much would Evan understand?

Evan whisked away their empty soup bowls and returned with an appetizer.

Rodney lit up. “Beignets! What kind?”

“Parmesan and gruyere,” Evan said, smiling.

“You really went all out,” Rodney said.

“Well, a soulmark is important. Building a lifelong relationship with a soulmate takes a lot of work, and it’s best to start off on the right foot, right at the beginning with the receiving of a soulmark.” Evan almost sounded like he was reciting from a textbook. Did soulmarkers have textbooks? “You’ll have this tattoo for the rest of your life, and it’ll represent your love and commitment to your soulmate. You want to go all out, right? And you want to know I’ll go all out for you.”

“You probably put on an impressive date,” Rodney said.

Evan said, “I’ve never done this for a date before.”

“Really?”

“But tonight is about you, not me,” Evan said quickly.

Were soulmarkers allowed to date? To have soulmates? Were they only supposed to use their soulmarker superpowers - like fancy cooking - for the giving of soulmarks?

Rodney said, “Maybe, but - this is like a job interview. If you’re going to be putting ink into my skin, shouldn’t I get to know you as well?”

Evan paused, and if Rodney was reading his expression right, he was startled. “Fair enough. What would you like to know?”

“Well - tit for tat. Where did you grow up?”

“California, Bay Area.”

“So you’re a city boy?”

“We lived outside the city. California is one of the biggest agricultural states in the nation. On TV it’s all Frisco and LA, but outside the cities it’s pretty rural.”

Rodney wondered if Evan was deflecting, since he hadn’t much elaborated on his childhood, or if he was equally prone to sharing random trivia. “Were you a farm boy?”

“No, I lived on a hippy commune. We grew a lot of our own food, though.”

Rodney stared at him. “A hippy commune. But - you fight for The Man.”

Evan shrugged. “There’s a black sheep in every family.”

Rodney wanted to pursue that further, because he was pretty sure there was a tense set to Evan’s shoulders, but this was really their first extended conversation, and if they were going to be spending a lot of time together, Rodney didn’t want things between them to be awkward. “Fair enough. School. What was that like for you?”

“Public high school, four years at the Academy, and right into service.”

“What did you major in?”

“What amounts to logistics, with a minor in geology. Got my masters in geophysics -”

“Masters?” Rodney asked.

Evan nodded. “Need a masters or its equivalent to make major.”

“So then John -”

“Colonel Sheppard has a masters in something mathematically-related, I do believe.” Evan was smiling, amused.

“And...General O’Neill?”

“Aeronautical engineering.” Evan added, “When we’re boots on the ground with Marines, well, they think we Air Force officers are nerdy enough. Sometimes it pays to play dumb.”

Rodney knew John was smart, MENSA-smart, but he did seem to play dumb sometimes. Or did he? It was hard for Rodney to tell, because he was always so much faster than the people around him, at least when it came to solving problems.

“Most of us aren’t Colonel Carter, though,” Evan said.

He brought them the next course, which smelled divine.

“And now, for the main course, prosciutto-wrapped poultry breasts, stuffed with herbed livestock cheese, with a side of greens.”

Rodney knew euphemisms for Pegasus substitutes when he heard them, but the local Pegasus game hen was pretty good, as was the local goat-ish cheese. “Real prosciutto? How did you manage that?”

“Trade secret.” Evan smiled again.

Rodney liked the sound of amusement in his voice. His voice really was warm, pleasant.

“So you’ve been in the Air Force since you were eighteen?”

Evan nodded.

“Why?”

“All I ever wanted to do was fly.”

Rodney could appreciate that - that single-minded drive to pursue a single goal. His goal was less pedestrian. He wanted to unlock the secrets of the universe. “But you don’t fly anymore.”

“Jumpers and F-302s are pretty incredible,” Evan said. “How’s the chicken?”

“Amazing,” Rodney said. “If you’ve been in the Air Force all your life, when did you have time to learn to cook like this? I’ve been to three-star restaurants and the food hasn’t been this good.”

“Why thank you. My grandmother taught me. Made my first crepes when I was five.”

“Five?” Rodney echoed. “I mean, sure I was doing algebra by then, but...isn’t that dangerous?”

“She supervised me around the hot stove,” Evan said.

Of course Evan had had attentive relatives looking out for him. It was why he was sociable and likeable.

“Speaking of family,” Evan said, “tell me about yours?”

Rodney hesitated.  “Nothing impressive. Mother. Father. Younger sister. One grandmother I saw regularly.”

“Do you have other soulmates in your family?” Evan asked.

Oh. That was what he was after. It was one thing for someone to hate their own family. A man didn’t get to pick his family. Even though Rodney didn’t subscribe to most of the claptrap about traditional gender roles - which Jeannie was better than - he did think there was something deeply terrible about a woman who hated her own children, had hated them since before they were able to earn someone’s hatred.

“My Grandma McKay had a soulmate. She was widowed young, and then she married my grandfather,” Rodney said. Since this was tit for tat, he asked, “What about your family?”

“Just me, my mother, grandmother, and older sister growing up. Both my grandmother and mother had soulmates,” Evan said. “My sister is also a soulmarker.”

“So it runs doubly in the family for you.” The poultry really was delicious. Rodney polished it off, then sat back, rubbed his stomach. “Did you always eat like this growing up, or is this kind of meal just for soulmark rituals?”

Evan laughed. “No, we rarely had the full five-course meal. That was for special occasions, birthdays and the like, or maybe when Nan was catering. We were all so busy that we rarely ate as a family.”

Rodney thought of the stilted, frosty family dinners he’d sat through every night as a child, doing his best to keep his head down under the tension and not saying anything and then exploding when it got too much, snapping at his vicious mother or his spineless father. Usually if he went after his mother she didn’t go after Jeannie. Maybe it would have been better if they’d just not eaten together most of the time. Perhaps that was why Evan was sociable and well-adjusted.

Evan fetched the final course. Dessert.

“Chocolate chip espresso meringues. Now that I think about it, maybe strong espresso in the evening isn’t a great idea, so I can box these up for you if you like,” he began, lifting off the cloche cover from Rodney’s plate.

Rodney stared at the beautiful little morsels arranged on the plate in kind of a swirl, dusted in powdered sugar. Then he pounced on one and took a bite. The perfect combination of bitter and sweet. He moaned happily.

“Oh, this is so good. You’ve never made this for a date before? You’d get laid in a heartbeat. Women love chocolate.”

“So I’ve heard,” Evan said, his tone unreadable, and Rodney actually looked up, met his gaze, but his expression was unreadable as well.

Evan cleared his throat. “I’m glad you’re enjoying them. Let me box up the rest for you. So - what else runs in your family? Besides soulmates.”

“Brilliance,” Rodney offered, since he didn’t want to talk about bitterness and cowardice even though he knew he’d inherited both from his mother and father in spades. “My younger sister, Jean - I call her Jeannie - is a brilliant mathematician and physicist. Not quite as brilliant as me, seeing how she’s younger, but - quite brilliant. At least, she was - before she gave it all up.”

“Gave it up?” Evan asked.

“To be a wife and mother,” Rodney said, and he couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Evan finished boxing up the cookies, set them down beside Rodney’s plate.

“My sister isn’t a wife but she is a mother - and a tattoo artist,” Evan said. “She taught me everything I know about tattooing. Our mother is an art teacher, and she taught us both art. Nan taught us all to cook.”  Evan tilted his head. “Does Jeannie look like you?”

“Everyone says so, but I don’t see it,” Rodney said, which was the literal truth.

“She’s probably beautiful.” Evan sounded totally sincere. “So, Rodney McKay, is there anything else you think I should know about you? Toward getting your soulmark.”

Rodney thought, nibbling on another meringue. They were so good. If he were a woman he might offer to take Evan to bed, but - banging the soulmarker when he was supposed to be looking for his soulmate was probably a poor choice.

“Not that I can think of,” he said.

Evan nodded. “All right. Well, obviously you can’t learn all about another person in a single meal, but I think we’re off to a good start. Next week, we can meet up again. I’ll let you know when and where.”

Rodney nodded, scooped up the box of meringues, added the other meringues to them. He’d have to ration them carefully over the next week. They were amazing. Then he started for the door. “Next week, of course. Wait - do you need help cleaning up?”

Evan smiled gently, shook his head. “I’ve got everything under control. Have a nice evening, Rodney. It was good getting to know you.”

No one had ever said that to Rodney before. “Ah - same to you. Later, Evan.” And he left.

*

Evan had heard volumes in all the silences Rodney let hang about his family, so he didn’t pry. After all, Rodney hadn’t pried about Evan’s family, his lack of father and grandfather, his sister’s lack of a husband. A lot of people considered Rodney terribly socially oblivious, but he was a genius in more ways than one, and Evan had appreciated the consideration.

What Rodney didn’t know - and what Evan wasn’t planning on telling him - was that this was his first full soulmark ritual, and he was doing the best he could with what he had, since he didn’t have the resources of the Soulmarker Guild on Earth to help him. He’d contributed to soulmark rituals before - painting lessons, making meals - but he’d never done a full one himself, and he had to strike the careful balance between tradition and the individual needs of his client.

For all that Rodney seemed arrogant and overconfident and oversharing and attention-seeking, he had the same vulnerabilities as other people, parts of his past that hurt, parts of him he didn’t want people to see. For Evan to craft a soulmark that truly represented Rodney, he needed to know all of those parts, even the dark and ugly parts, because he understood how shadows and crooked lines formed a beautiful whole. He would have to tread carefully with Rodney, though.

Evan considered seeing if he couldn’t schedule interviews with Teyla, Ronon, and John, maybe even Elizabeth and Radek and Miko, just to get their specific perspectives on Rodney. He could get on John’s calendar himself, but Chuck and Amelia technically scheduled Elizabeth, Teyla, and Ronon, so he’d have to call them. Miko would help him get on Radek’s calendar for sure. Evan went to tap his radio to put in a call to Chuck, but then Chuck radioed him.

“Control for Lorne.”

“Go for Lorne.”

“Dr. Weir needs your team to organize guest quarters for a VIP in the science corridor,” Chuck said.

“Roger that. Male or female?”

“Female. Adult. Tau’ri.”

“Noted. Duration of visit?”

“One _Daedalus_ cycle.”

“Roger. Over and out.” Evan ended the radio call, then got on the radio to Sergeant Yoo, who was his head logistics NCO. He relayed the message to Yoo, and Yoo agreed to get some Marines in to clean, air out, and furnish an empty room down the science corridor. Yoo would arrange for clean linens and toiletries and speak to Miko about getting basic science amenities - laptop, datapad, a radio, and a temporary library card with the base archives for access to entertainment.

Evan headed for the science corridor to select a room for the VIP - one that was large, with an ensuite and space for a sitting area and a mini-kitchen. He requisitioned a toaster oven and a hot plate to go along with the other things Yoo was asking for. He directed the Marines to arrange for a bed near but not facing the window, a night stand, a chest of drawers, a coffee table and a couple of easy chairs, and another taller table for the cooking amenities. He also got one of the maintenance Marines to install a towel rack, and he rounded up a soap dish and a little cup to hold a toothbrush.

Yoo arrived with bath towels, a bath mat, clean sheets and pillowcases, a coverlet for the bed, a toothbrush and toothpaste, and actual separate bottles of shampoo and conditioner since every woman Evan had ever known complained that the combo stuff was a lie, and also one box of tampons and one squishy package of pads.

While Yoo directed the Marines in installing the mattress and set about making up the bed, Evan furnished the bathroom.

“Do we even know who the guest is?” Yoo asked.

Evan shook his head. “No. Just a VIP.”

Because Yoo was a perfectionist above and beyond Evan, he’d even requisitioned a vase and some pretty orange alien blossoms from Botany. He set them in the middle of the coffee table.

The entire operation took several hours, and the Marines and Yoo had been pulled from their regular duties. Once they were finished, Evan sent them back to continue their regular duties with instructions to let him know if any of their superior officers had complaints about him borrowing them for a while.

Finally Evan had a chance to get on the radio, but then his watch beeped. Reminder. The _Daedalus_ was on its way. He had to assemble with the other logistics officers and NCOs in one of the bays below the gate room to supervise the unloading of the _Daedalus_ once all the new supplies were beamed down.

He could email Chuck about getting on Elizabeth’s calendar later. Time to marshal supplies.

There was a certain rhythm to organizing supplies off the _Daedalus._ The NCOs were in charge of supplies for the kitchens, maintenance, and the SLCCR facilities, and since those were necessities, they got to move in and grab their supplies first. Evan had organized a basewide transporter diversion after the first disastrous attempting at unloading had taken forever because everyone was using the transporters the Marines needed to get things done. For the next few hours, people would have to bounce to several different transporters to get to their destinations so that Marines could use the most efficient transporters to get supplies from the lower loading bay to their proper places.

In an effort to keep things peaceful, Evan had assigned some officers from the engineering corps to be the ones to take supplies to the science department, partially because they had a better chance of sending the right instrument to the right lab, and partially because they tended to get along with the scientists better.

One of the perks of being the chief logistics officer was that Evan knew the requisition process inside and out, and he could get things to Atlantis that couldn’t be acquired through regular channels. When he supervised the unloading process, he was on hand to pick up the special deliveries: unique hobby supplies, expensive liquor, important cooking ingredients, and also secret birthday gifts people had ordered from Earth to make sure the surprise didn’t get ruined when the recipient received their birthday gift as a regular delivery, before it could be wrapped or given on the big day.

By the time the entire delivery was unloaded, all of the logistics teams were exhausted, so Evan ordered them to the mess hall for supper - he’d let the KP Marines handle supper unsupervised - and to take the rest of the evening off, for which they were grateful.

Evan stepped into the mess hall, filled his tray - fettuccine alfredo, grilled chicken and mushrooms, salad with Italian dressing, white tiramisu - and then scanned the tables for his teammates.

With the arrival of the _Daedalus_ there would be new personnel, plus other personnel headed back to Earth on leave, so Evan wasn’t surprised by the unfamiliar faces, and it took him a moment to find his team. He headed over to them. As he passed Team Sheppard’s table, he was surprised to see someone new sitting with them, a pretty blonde woman wearing civvies.

“So, did you get it?” Coughlin asked.

Evan said, “I left it in your locker in the team room.”

“Get what?” Reed asked.

“None ya business,” Billick drawled, and exchanged grins with Coughlin.

Reed pursed his lips, annoyed as he always was when he felt the other two were sidelining him, but this time Evan let it go, because the others had ordered a DVD for Reed for his birthday, a movie he had been looking forward to since he’d arrived on Atlantis.

“You know the rules,” Evan said. “I keep other people’s business confidential unless it’s contrary to the health and welfare of the denizens of or the security of this base.”

Reed nodded and said nothing.

“How’s the food?” Evan asked, twirling up a forkful of pasta.

“Good,” Coughlin said. “They’re not entirely incompetent without you mothering them.”

Evan said, “You’d be proud to have me as your mother and you know it.”

Coughlin said, without missing a beat, “I’d be ashamed to have so ugly a mother.”

By now Reed was used to their jeering banter, but he still looked disapproving.

Billick said, “Did you hear? One of the new scientists is McKay’s sister.”

Evan glanced over his shoulder at Team Sheppard’s table at the pretty blonde woman, and he could see it, in the shape of her jaw and eyes and how she smiled. She was beautiful. “I didn’t realize she was still doing science. I’d heard she was a wife and mother and homemaker.”

“Really?” Coughlin asked. “I’d never even heard McKay had a sister. I always figured he’d sprung out of a rock, old and cranky and too smart for everyone’s good.”

Reed said, a bit peevishly, “Why couldn’t she do science in addition to being a homemaker?”

“I wasn’t saying she couldn’t,” Evan said patiently, “but I just didn’t think she was doing theoretical physics anymore.”

“She must be pretty good if she’s here now,” Billick said.

Evan glanced at her again. Rodney had said she was brilliant. They probably had a lot in common. Had they been close as children? She’d have invaluable insight into who Rodney was, different from anything he could get from Rodney’s teammates or colleagues.

Question was, would Evan have a chance to talk to her?

Undoubtedly she was the VIP they’d set up a room for earlier, especially as she was in the science wing. If she was only staying for a single _Daedalus_ cycle, six weeks, she must have been pretty brilliant, to warrant being read in and shipped over out of what amounted to retirement from research and academia.

After supper, Evan bade his teammates farewell and headed back to the military command office. He had to make sure all the paperwork for the unloading of the _Daedalus_ was squared away. Also he could email Chuck and other people about scheduling interviews on the question of Rodney McKay. While he typed and listened to Radio Atlantis - tuned to the oldies station, so he could get his Joni Mitchell and Kingston Trio and Peter Paul and Mary - he thought of all the ways to approach Rodney’s sister without coming off like a creepy stalker.

Fate must have been on his side, because just as he was finished sending the last email, his radio crackled to life.

“Major Lorne?” It was a woman’s voice, unfamiliar, but then it would take Evan about a week to learn all the new people.

“Go for Lorne,” he said.

“Chuck and Amelia told me to call you if I needed anything,” she said. “I’m Jean Miller, Mer - er, Rodney’s sister.”

“Ma’am,” Evan said, standing up. “What do you need? I can bring it to you.”

“There are no garbage cans in my room.”

Evan chuckled. “Of course. There’s always something we forget. How many do you need? One for the bathroom, one for the bedroom, spare one for the sitting area?”

“That sounds good.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Thank you, Major.”

“Please, call me Evan. Almost no one does.”

“All right, Evan. Call me Jeannie.”

Evan was already out the office and headed for maintenance. He picked up three little waste paper baskets, a stash of bin liners, and headed for the science residential corridor.

“Thanks, Jeannie.”

Evan knocked on her door instead of using the Ancient door chime.

There was a pause, and then it slid open.

Up close, Jeannie Miller was lovely indeed, with a wide smile and bright blue eyes, just like Rodney’s. “I keep forgetting there are no doorknobs.”

Evan held up the waste paper baskets. “Where do you want these?”

“Oh, I can put them out myself -”

“Maintenance has a certain way they like them done, to make for easy cleaning.” Evan smiled.

“Well, then - can I get one in the bathroom? And then one by the bed and one by the kind of kitchen set-up.” Jeannie stepped back, let him into her room. “Major. That’s a commissioned officer, right? Shouldn’t - I don’t know, a private or something be doing this?”

Evan put a stash of bin liners in the bottom of each waste paper basket, lined each of them with a single liner, and set them out as Jeannie had requested.

“I’m not the kind of commissioned officer who would ever ask one of my airmen to do something I’m not willing to do myself. Besides, one of my responsibilities does include making sure our guests are comfortable.”

“You get guests here often?” Jeannie sat down in one of the easy chairs. She had a datapad to hand.

“Usually political figures, since the Expedition is overseen by an international committee,” Evan said. “When they told me to set up quarters for a VIP, they didn’t say it was Rodney’s sister.”

Jeannie raised her eyebrows. “Rodney told you about me? And not just because I was on my way here?”

“Ah, no. He mentioned it, over dinner one night,” Evan said, which was true if not quite the truth.

Jeannie sat back. “What did he say?”

“That you’re incredibly brilliant -”

“But not as brilliant as him.”

“And that you’re a wife and a mother.”

“What else did he say?” Jeannie eyed him.

“Not much,” Evan admitted. “For all that Rodney seems like he’s prone to over-sharing, he plays some things pretty close to the vest.”

“You call him Rodney.”

Evan nodded. “Because that’s his name.”

“Actually, his first name is Meredith, but he hates being called that for obvious reasons, so - John calls him McKay. So do all the other military personnel. But not you.”

“He asked me to call him by his first name,” Evan said.

Jeannie eyed him some more. “You’re not like the other military people, John and Sam aside.”

“I don’t know what to tell you there,” Evan said. “I’m just - me.”

“No, it’s a good thing, I like it.” Jeannie smiled. “Are you and Rodney friends?”

“I don’t think we know each other well enough to be friends yet,” Evan said, “but I respect and appreciate him and all he does for this expedition.”

“Sounds like you know him better than others, if he told you about me,” Jeannie said.

“Well, different people know each other differently,” Evan said. “I know what kind of food Rodney likes, but Colonel Sheppard knows how far they can march offworld before Rodney needs either a break or a snack. I’ve been with the SGC since I was a captain, but most people you talk to probably don’t know my first name.”

“Because you don’t tell them?”

“In the military first names are kind of optional unless two people in the same unit have the same last name.” Evan shrugged. “I’m not ashamed of my name.”

“Unlike some people.”

Evan considered. “Given the people we work with, I’m not surprised Rodney didn’t tell anyone. Most people don’t realize that Meredith used to be a last name and then a boy’s name.”

“But you know that.”

“I have some random trivia kicking around up here. It’s not all fighter jets and guns. Anything else I can do for you?”

Jeannie set aside her datapad, leaned in. “How is Mer doing here, really?”

“Like I said, he’s a well-respected member of the Expedition. He’s the Chief Science Officer for a reason.” Evan studied her. He wanted to draw her. If Rodney had a daughter, would she look like Jeannie?

“Is it just endless research for him?” Jeannie asked. “Or - is he playing piano again or something?”

“I didn’t know he played the piano.”

Jeannie nodded, and her expression turned fond, distant. “By the time he was twelve he was concert-grade. We all thought he was going to be the next - oh, I don’t know, Mozart or something. He’s a brilliant musician. But he quit. I never did find out why, and he never said. Focused on science after that. I always hoped, once he was happy and settled, he’d start playing again. I don’t know why - it’s a silly notion. Mer is very stubborn. If he doesn’t want to play anymore, he won’t.”

Evan decided to check with the base archivist, see if Rodney had checked out the communal keyboard. “Maybe one day he will. Just - as much as Atlantis is our home, it’s - we’re living in a war zone. We’re at war with the Wraith. And the Milky Way has its own share of issues with other alien forces. I don’t know if any of us are happy and settled here.”

Jeannie frowned. “A war zone?”

Evan nodded.

“I can’t believe Mer would -”

“Put himself in danger? He’s braver than even he knows.”

Jeannie gazed up at Evan. “Could you tell me? The things he’s done.”

“Ah - perhaps that’s best left to him. I’m sure if you ask him, he’ll tell you.” Evan didn’t want to cross a line between Rodney and his sister. But he had learned new things about Rodney, new possibilities to explore. “Anything else I can do for you?”

Jeannie looked like she wanted to ask him something more, but she shook her head. “No, but thank you, Evan.”

He nodded. “All right. If you need anything else to make your stay more comfortable, don’t hesitate to let me know. If I’m offworld or otherwise unavailable, Sergeant Yoo should be able to help you.”

“Offworld,” Jeannie echoed. “Right. Good evening, Major. Evan.”

“And to you, Jeannie.”

*

Jeannie was on Atlantis to help with Rodney’s attempt at Project Arcturus, which resulted not in loss of life but rather introduction of another life: Rodney’s alternate universe counterpart, a charming, fast-talking, leather-jacket-wearing man who looked like Rodney but preferred to be called Rod.

Due to everything that was going on with Project Arcturus, Rodney had to postpone the next stage of the soulmark ritual, which Evan totally understood, because possibly destroying an entirely separate alternate universe was kind of an emergency.

Evan and his team weren’t actually any help in that kind of an emergency, but they did have to pick up some offworld missions that Team Sheppard ordinarily would have taken. After the latest mission - a brief trade run to a planet with established trade ties - Evan was headed to the locker room to avoid tracking offworld muck all through the base - when he ran into Rodney.

“Hey, sorry,” Evan said. “You might not want to get too close while I’m like this. Give me ten and we can talk, if it’s urgent.”

“I’m not your Rodney,” he said.

“Oh. Rod.” Evan straightened up. “What can I do for you?” He and Yoo had arranged for guest quarters for him as well.

Rod leaned in, lowered his voice. “Listen, you and this universe’s version of me.”

“We have an amiable collegial relationship,” Evan said cautiously.

“Right. Of course. You don’t know me, and you’re always such a professional. Just - be nice to him, okay?”

“I hadn’t planned on doing otherwise,” Evan said, a little offended.

Rod clapped him on the shoulder, the gesture condescending. “Good man. As you were.”

“Thanks,” Evan said flatly, and then Rod walked away.

Evan cleaned up, changed into a fresh uniform, and headed for the mess hall for supper. Reed’s birthday celebration had gone well - complete with popcorn and Team Movie Night to watch the birthday DVD - and Billick’s birthday was coming up, so the rest of the team had to plan. He checked his watch. If he wanted to avoid the worst of the second shift dinner rush, he’d best wait half an hour. He radioed his teammates, told them to hold off as well.

Since he had a spare moment, he headed to the base archive.

The base archivist was a tiny woman of indeterminate race or age, though she had dark skin, dark eyes, and dark hair. She spoke with a crisp English accent but called everyone _kiddo._

“What can I do for you?” she asked when Evan stepped into the archives.

“I was wondering if I could look at the requisition records for the communal keyboard, see if we need to order another one,” he said.

“After the communal guitar, it is the most popular instrument. Want a hard copy, or will an email do?”

“Email is fine,” Evan said.

The archivist smiled at him. “It’ll be winging its way into your inbox in the next fifteen minutes or so. Anything else? Watercolors, pastels, acrylics?”

She remembered Evan was an artist.

“No, but thank you.”

“All right. Have a good one, kiddo.”

Evan waved at her. “Later.”

He headed to the military command office, because having his datapad handy was useful whenever he was trying to plan, well, anything. He never wanted to go back to Big Air Force because he’d be back to doing things low-tech, and that just sounded miserable.

By the time he got to the office, there was an email from the archivist waiting for him. Rodney had never checked the keyboard out, not once in his entire tenure on Atlantis, but there probably was call for a second one at this point. If the guitar was more popular, then a second guitar was probably a good idea as well.

Evan made a note for his next round of requisitions, and then he checked the instrument reservation schedule. Hopefully he’d be able to reserve the keyboard for the next time he wanted it.

*

Between almost destroying an alternate universe, dealing with his sister after years of estrangement, and then getting shot by his own teammate after a Wraith device brainwashed him, Rodney was exhausted and kind of frazzled. He wanted to sleep forever and just shut out the world. Shut out everything.

He got back to his quarters and flung himself down on his prescription mattress, ready to shut down and zone out.

A call came over the radio. “Rodney?”

He sat up, startled. “Major Lorne? I mean - Evan.” Since he, unlike many military officers, used Rodney’s first name.

“Hey, I didn’t want to bother you till things had kind of settled down, but are you ready for the second stage of the soulmark ritual?”

“Tonight?”

“Ah, no, that’s terribly short notice. In a couple of nights, maybe? Somehow it’s the designated Sunday for both of us.”

“Sure,” Rodney said. “Um - what do I need to do to prepare?”

“Just bring yourself. Maybe have some comfortable shoes,” Evan said. “After supper. I’ll send coordinates.”

“All right. Thanks, Evan.”

“It’s all for you, Rodney. See you in a couple of nights.”

The radio call ended. Rodney rolled onto his feet and went over to check his shoes. He had a pair of orthopedic sneakers. Those would work, right? Evan hadn’t said anything about dressing up nice. It wasn’t another meal, since Evan had said they’d meet after supper.

Evan had said the whole point of the soulmark ritual was for the two of them to get to know each other better, and also to engage all of Rodney’s senses. Food was for taste and smell. What senses required comfortable shoes?

Rodney sat on the edge of his bed and he pondered. Was getting a soulmark really worth this ritual?

Evan was right. This was a big decision. Rodney wanted to be a hundred percent sure of the soulmark he got. His soulmark would help him find his soulmate. His soulmate would be worth every moment he spent on this ritual.

The next day, Rodney received an email from Evan with coordinates again for one of the recreation rooms. Rodney plowed through his work day, collecting data, working it up, doing his best to avoid anything that would delay the next stage of the soulmark ritual. It was supposed to have been done all in the space of a month, and it had been two months since that meal they’d had together.

Which had been amazing. Evan had been pretty scarce since then, but then Rodney had been scarce too, working with Jeannie, making sure that her time on Atlantis was well-spent.

Rodney spent most of his designated Sunday doing chores, because that was what designated Sundays were for. It was almost like being in college again. Cleaning his room. Laundry. Restocking on snacks and entertainment supplies from the base commissary and archives. Also some recreation, like a long luxurious bath, a late breakfast and an early dinner.

And then it was time to go meet Evan, so he wore comfortable jeans, a nicer shirt, and of course his comfortable shoes. He headed for the rec room. This one wasn’t guarded by Marines, and when he opened the door, it wasn’t lit oddly. It was devoid of furniture but for a single couch - and an electric keyboard and a couple of folding chairs.

Evan was wearing jeans and a button-down blue checked shirt over a USAF t-shirt. He was standing beside the couch.

“Hey, you made it. Welcome!”

“Yes,” Rodney said. “Of course I’m here. I’m serious about a soulmark.”

“As am I.” Evan smiled and beckoned Rodney closer.

Rodney sidled closer, cautious. “So, what senses are we working on tonight?”

“Sound. With music. Your sister happened to mention that you play the piano.”

Evan had spoken to Jeannie? Of course. He always made up rooms for guests.

“What else did she tell you?”

“Not much. We didn’t talk long. But she said you were concert-grade by the time you were twelve. I’ve always wanted to learn how to play piano, and I figured you could teach me. It’d be sound and touch all in one.”

Rodney swallowed hard. “Did she tell you I haven’t played since I was twelve?”

“I’m not expecting you to teach me Rachmaninoff in one night, but I figure someone as smart as you - it’s like riding a bike.”

It had been decades since Rodney had touched a piano. His heart started to pound. He remembered his old piano teacher, how she’d smelled like moth balls and her hands were wrinkled and her fake pearls were flaking their pearlescence, as she’d stood beside him and told him that his playing had no soul.

He remembered standing in the doorway of Grandma McKay’s house while Mom shouted at Dad and strange men in coveralls came to take Grandma’s piano away because she had debts to pay, even in death.

Then he looked at Evan, who didn’t know any of that, Evan whose taste in music was hippie pedestrian.

Evan wasn’t looking to hear Rodney’s heart and soul on piano. But he was here to help Rodney figure out how to share his soul with someone else. Time to be brave.

“Well, what song would you like to learn on the piano?” Rodney asked.

“I honestly hadn’t thought of a song in particular,” Evan admitted.

Rodney started for the keyboard. It was a cheap electronic affair, looked serviceable enough. He was pleased when he tested the keys and realized they were weighted. “You know what, you don’t need to learn a particular song. But if you learn four simple chords, you can play just about any pop song.” He sat down, fired up the keyboard.

Evan sat beside him. “Really? Just four chords?”

Rodney nodded. “Do you know how chords work?”

“They’re just - three notes at the same time, right?”

“Ah, technically a chord is two or more notes sounded simultaneously. There’s a certain math in music. Do you know your notes?”

Evan blinked. “Um...doe a deer, a female deer?”

Back to the very basics. Rodney pressed a single key. “This is middle C. There are eighty-eight keys on a standard piano, and this is the middle one. Don’t bother with the black keys for now. Stick with the white ones. After C is D.” He played all the way up through the major scale. “And the eighth note is actually just C, an octave higher.”

“Octave. Eight notes. Okay.” Evan nodded.

“You try,” Rodney said, and slid aside a bit so Evan could reach the keys.

Evan played piano the way a lot of old people typed, with his index fingers in a kind of hunt and peck.

“That’s - we’ll work on your flow later. Now, each note in an octave is assigned a number. One through seven.”

“Because the top note is actually one again.”

“Precisely. Now, the major chord for each note is in a one-three-five pattern.” Rodney played C major. “See one is C, three is E, five is G.”

Evan nodded, tested the chord for himself.

“The four chords you need to know for pretty much every pop song ever are major one, major five, minor six, major four.”

“What makes a chord a minor versus a major?” Evan asked.

“Ah, well, every note in a scale increases by what we call a semitone.” Rodney played C, then C sharp. “See, this is C. This black key is C sharp - a tone is sharp if it’s up, but flat if it’s down.”

Evan prodded the keys. “Sharp and flat being relative to the white key?”

Rodney was impressed. “Yes. From C to C sharp is a semitone. A major third encompasses four semitones. So from C to E is C, C sharp, D, D-sharp, and then E.”

“Okay.”

“A minor third only has three semitones. So from D to F is D, D sharp, E, and then F.”

Evan exhaled. “Wow. That’s really complicated.”

“Music, as much as we praise the artistry and soul in it, has a lot of technical components. Honestly, those technical components are what allow musicians to create beauty or particular sounds. Minor chords are sad, major chords are happy. With a bit of math, you can take a cheery song and make it very sad, or vice versa. Anyway, these four chords - major one, major five, minor six, major four. In that order.” Rodney played them one by one.

It really was riding a bike. Even if he hadn’t touched a piano in years, he still knew all of the theory, dredged it up whenever he listened to a particularly interesting song.

Evan played each chord. He was a fast learner, figured out the chord progression, could play it properly, if slowly and a little hesitantly.

“Once you get pretty good at theory, you can transpose these four chords into different keys, for whichever one suits your voice or someone else’s voice if they’re singing,” Rodney said, and showed Evan the one that best fit his voice, which was down in D major. “But once you know these four chords, you’re pretty much golden. You can accompany just about anyone for any song. Pick a song.”

Evan eyed him. “Any song? Really?”

Rodney nodded.

“Fine. Um - Don’t Stop Believing, by Journey.” Evan looked at him expectantly.

Rodney knew that riff all right. So he started to play it. “See, one - five - minor six - four.”

Evan smiled, bobbed his head, and began to sing softly. He didn’t have a particularly pretty voice, but he was on key. _“Just a small-town girl living in a lonely world / she took the midnight train going anywhere…”_

Rodney kept playing the same four chords but chimed in with different lyrics. _“Forever young, I wanna be forever young…”_

Evan’s eyes lit up.

Rodney switched to another song. _“’Cause I can’t live with or without you.”_

“Wow. That - that is so cool. Really. Just four chords? But - all those songs sound different.”

Rodney kept playing softly. He remembered this, the smoothness of piano keys beneath his fingers, how to hold his wrists. He’d probably lost a lot of speed and dexterity, but this he could still do. “Well, different songs are in different keys, and the melodies are different, otherwise we’d get pretty sick of the pop songs. But modern pop songs are four chords, for the most part. Doo-wop is five chords, some types of jazz six, some blues twelve.”

“When you put it like that, music seems so simple, but then you throw in semitones and majors and minors and it gets so complicated.” Evan smiled at Rodney again.

He wished he could read facial expressions better. “Really. Four chords. Have at it.”

Evan reached out and kept on playing. Rodney showed him some variations, a simple bass line. And the two of them played and sang, as many songs as they could think of, which resulted in both of them admitting embarrassing knowledge of pop songs and country songs.

When they finally ran out of songs, they turned off the keyboard. Evan had bottles of water for them after they’d sung for so long.

Rodney sank down on the couch, and Evan sat down beside him.

“That’s - I haven’t played in a long time. I’d forgotten how much fun it was,” Rodney said. He felt - elated. The kind of elated he usually only felt once he made a big breakthrough on his research. Then he looked at Evan. “How did you get a keyboard here so soon?”

Evan looked at him. “So soon?”

“After my sister’s visit.”

“Oh - I’m not that capable of logistics. Not enough turnaround time between her visit and the next _Daedalus_ delivery. No, we have all kinds of communal instruments available for use at the archive,” Evan said.

Rodney had seen people with guitars and the like. He was pretty sure John’s guitar was his own.

“The keyboard and guitar are popular enough that I’ve requisitioned backups. But whenever you want, you can borrow one.” Evan nodded at the keyboard.

Rodney sipped at his water some more. “You learned fast. I’m impressed.”

“Thanks. No one in my family is particularly musical, but - hand-eye coordination is something I’ve got.” Evan waggled his fingers. “Flying a fighter jet and all that.”

“Of course,” Rodney said.

Evan nudged Rodney’s shoulder with his. “Thanks for teaching me. You’re a good teacher.”

Rodney huffed. “No one’s ever said that to me before.”

“Well, now I have.” Evan smiled.

He had a nice enough smile, Rodney supposed. Dimples and all. Was Evan seeing anyone? Was his spending time with Rodney cutting into his time with a girlfriend or something?

“So...what’s next? Or is there nothing next? Last time the meal took a while is all.” Rodney winced, because he knew how bossy that had sounded.

Evan stood up, stretched. The hem of his t-shirt rode up, and Rodney glimpsed a taut belly, warm golden skin - and the faintest hint of ink curling at Evan’s hip. Rodney had never seen that hint of a tattoo before. What did his tattoos look like?

“Well, how are you at dancing?”

Rodney stared at him. “Not stellar. I was never into clubbing or anything.”

“No, not that kind of dancing. I was thinking - ballroom.”

Rodney raised his eyebrows. “You know how to ballroom dance?”

Evan fetched a little portable CD player and put it on the arm of the couch, plugged it in. “Sure. Been to more than one officer’s ball in my time. Always wanted to make a good time for my date.”

Rodney wondered if John knew ballroom dancing. “Can all officers ballroom dance?”

“Probably not. I just cared enough about my dates to take lessons.”

Of course Evan was that considerate. “I’ll admit, I’ve never really learned ballroom dancing.”

“Well,” Evan said, “after you get your soulmark and find your soulmate, you’ll be prepared for your first dance at your wedding. Let’s start with a waltz. It’s pretty basic, but it’s romantic.”

Rodney nodded, then paused. “We’re both men.”

“That’s less of an issue than both of us being the same height, but I’ll teach you both parts. If you know what it’s like being both the driver and the passenger, it’ll be better in the end anyway.” Evan smiled and turned on some music.

Rodney knew how a waltz worked from a technical standpoint, had three beats per measure, and the emphasis was on the first beat.

Evan turned on the CD player. It wasn’t a song Rodney would have expected, acoustic guitar, a man with a deep voice singing. But Rodney had rhythm, and he learned the step easily. Once Rodney could do the steps confidently, he danced opposite Evan.

“Don’t look at your feet, look at me,” Evan said gently.

Rodney met his gaze, and they really were the same height.

“There. Just trust your body.”

“My body’s not nearly as trustworthy as my brain,” Rodney said, though his most recent mission had taught him that wasn’t always so true.

“Well, then trust mine till you can trust yours,” Evan said, and he stepped closer, swept Rodney into his arms.

Rodney was startled by the hand at his waist, at the firm warmth of Evan’s body where they were pressed together, but then they were dancing around the common room, moving to the easy rhythm of the music.

The mournful acoustic guitar song transitioned into some slow eighties power ballad. Rodney knew the chorus, _if you don’t know me by now,_ and he hummed along absently.

“As long as you stay close to me and stay on beat, we won’t ever step on each other’s feet,” Evan said.

“Better knock on wood,” Rodney joked.

“Don’t sell yourself short.”

Evan used the slower song to teach Rodney some simple turns in addition to the regular progressive step, how to change directions, and a different progressive step.

The song changed again, to some lovely acapella harmonies that slowly built up an instrumental accompaniment. Rodney was pretty sure he’d also heard this song on the radio and been a bit dubious as to how romantic it was, since _a kiss from a rose_ really was nonsensical.

“How are you feeling about your waltz?” Evan asked.

“Pretty good. Why?”

“You ready to lead?”

Rodney started to nod, then shook his head. “Maybe you’d better show me.” Even though he knew, intellectually, that the man’s part was the mirror opposite of the woman’s he wasn’t quite coordinated enough to figure that out on his own.

But Evan stood beside him and showed him, and once Rodney was comfortable with that, Evan danced the woman’s part opposite him. Rodney was envious of his coordination, but then as a soldier who was expected to have proficiency in hand-to-hand combat in addition to being a pilot, Evan had probably trained up his physical coordination beyond whatever natural talent he possessed.

“All right, now for the frame up,” Evan said. “One hand on my waist, one hand holding my hand. Step in close. There you go. Now, you’re in charge.”

A new song started, a woman singing about how _I keep on falling in and out of love with you,_ powerful R&B vocals over some lovely piano music.

Rodney pulled Evan into his arms, and they began to dance.

“Don’t crash us into anything,” Evan said.

Rodney stumbled.

“Hey, relax.” Evan smiled gently. “You got this. And I’m not fragile.”

Indeed not. Evan was solid and strong.

Rodney had always thought the waltz posture, the man and woman offset instead of directly in front of each other and neither of them looking at each other looked stiff and pretentious, but now it made sense, so they wouldn’t step on each other’s feet, and also Rodney could see past Evan’s head to steer them safely.

When the song finished, Rodney was a little breathless, but he was pleased.

“There, see?” Evan said. “Congratulations. You can waltz.”

“Thank you,” Rodney said. He’d thought that dancing with another man would be awkward, but Evan had been completely calm about it. Of course, he’d grown up on a hippy commune. Even if he was an Air Force officer, he was probably a lot more open-minded than, say, most of the Marines, and for that Rodney was grateful.

“You are very welcome. How are you feeling?”

“Pretty good about myself. I’m a good teacher _and_ a good student.”

“That you are.” Evan shut off the CD player. “Is there anything else you think I should know about you? Toward getting your soulmark.”

Rodney had totally forgotten why they were even dancing together in the common room. “Ah, no.” Evan probably knew Rodney better than just about anyone besides his teammates, and there were definitely things about him Evan knew that John, Teyla, and Ronon didn’t know. Like the fact that Rodney wanted a soulmark at all.

Evan patted him on the shoulder. “Thank you for a lovely evening. I’ll let you know when it’s time for the next stage. Sorry it’s taking as long as it is.”

“It’s Pegasus,” Rodney said, a little helplessly. “I’ve been without a soulmate for almost four decades. A few weeks more aren’t the end of my world.”

“If we were on Earth, things would be better.”

“Maybe.” Rodney cleared his throat. “Thanks for a fun evening, Evan. I’ll see you round.”

“See you, Rodney.” Evan smiled and waved, and Rodney headed for the door.

*

Rodney had spoken too soon, because Helia and the Ancients returned, and the entire Expedition was kicked out of Atlantis and sent back to Earth.

Without Teyla and Ronon.

With O’Neill and Woolsey left behind.

Rodney was reassigned to Area 51, John was given a gate team at the SGC, and Evan - he was sent to Washington.

“Why Washington?” Rodney asked when he stopped by Evan’s on-base quarters where he was packing.

“Homeworld wants someone from Atlantis’s senior command on-hand to help talk to other bigwigs and talking heads from the IOA.”

“John outranks you,” Rodney pointed out.

Evan raised his eyebrows. “Can you see him riding a desk?”

“Point.”

“What about - the ritual?” Rodney lowered his voice, stepped further into Evan’s room.

“There are still two stages left,” Evan said. “The final sensory experience, and then the final consultation on the design for the mark. Now that we’re on Earth, there are plenty of soulmarkers to choose from.”

“I started the ritual with you, though.”

“Nevada’s on the west coast. If you wanted to get it done soon, you could go to my sister. She’s the person I’d recommended if I couldn’t do it, and not just because she’s my sister. She’s done all my ink.”

Rodney sighed. “I thought the whole point of the ritual was for you to get to know me. I felt like it was going well.”

Evan nodded, smiled. “It was. But I can’t guarantee that we’ll ever be around each other long enough to finish the ritual, or even for me to do the mark even if we skip the rest of the formal ritual, and I don’t want you to go without any longer than necessary.”

That was actually kind of touching. “Can I think about it?”

“Of course. Remember, what we’re doing is all for you. Take all the time you need.” Evan was folding clothes and stacking them in his duffel bag. Every single thing he folded was precisely one foot square.

Rodney was impressed and also a little disturbed. “Do they teach you how to fold your clothes like that in basic?”

“Yes, so our gear always fits inside our standard-issue luggage.”

“Oh. So John -?”

“Probably folds his clothes the same way, yes.”

“Huh. I’ve just never had occasion to watch him fold his laundry.”

Evan shrugged. “It’s habit at this point. And it works, so why reinvent the wheel?”

“Fair enough. Good luck in Washington. Stay in touch?”

“Of course,” Evan said. He smiled.

Rodney realized he was going to miss Evan, possibly as much as he already missed Ronon and Teyla, as much as he was going to miss John and Elizabeth, Carson and Radek. Elizabeth was between jobs. Carson was staying at the SGC, doing genetic research again. Radek had been offered a teaching position at Masaryk University back in his home country.

“Good luck to you,” Evan said. “And be safe.”

Rodney wasn’t sure what else to say, so he waved and ducked out of Evan’s room.

*

When Evan had joined the Air Force, he hadn’t ever intended to become the type of officer who was more politician than airman, who rode a desk and smiled and shook hands and almost forgot the weight of his sidearm.

His apartment in DC was a small studio, and it was barren and lonely. He ended up adopting a cat from a shelter just to have some company. The only perk to the place was that it got great natural light for most of the day, so on his days off - when he wasn’t wandering the various Smithsonian museums - he could get a lot of painting done.

Every day, Evan donned his dress blues, and he took public transport to the Pentagon. People stared at him on the metro, but he didn’t care, just made sure to comport himself appropriately, take off his cover indoors, give up his seat to small children, the elderly, and pregnant women. More often than not he found himself helping ladies carry strollers or groceries, and one time he’d even ended up carrying a baby while the woman struggled to carry her groceries.

Evan didn’t have to take the main employee entrance, instead had a side entrance for the wing that was just for Homeworld Security, though no one in the rest of the Pentagon even knew what it was called. He showed up, he swiped in, he sat at his desk, he read reports and he wrote reports, he attended briefings and he conducted briefings, he analyzed intel, and he was bored out of his mind.

He sent frequent emails to his old teammates, but their replies were few and far between, because they’d all been assigned to gate teams as well. The person he communicated most frequently with, besides his family (who he called at least once a week, glad to hear their voices), was Rodney. They emailed back and forth all the time. Rodney had taken up the piano again in earnest, bought an old upright for his apartment, and he’d send Evan videos of songs he was playing.

Jeannie hadn’t been kidding. Rodney was concert grade. Evan was no classical music aficionado, but he could tell Rodney was incredibly skilled.

In return, Evan sent Rodney photos of his paintings, from concept sketches to each layer of color so he could see how an oil painting came together.

They discussed the next phase of the ritual, which was about visual stimulation. Rodney, because he was secretly a comedian, sent Evan a Magic Eye book. Evan, in return, sent Rodney a painting he’d done, a portrait of Rodney he’d done from memory.

Rodney actually called when he received it. “You painted a portrait of me.”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t sit still for it.”

“Well, I do have some reference photos, and also I know what you look like,” Evan said. He was sprawled on his couch after a long and intensely boring week at the Pentagon. With O’Neill and Woolsey on Atlantis, the two people at Homeworld Security who had the most experience with the SGC were Lieutenant Colonel Paul Davis and Colonel David Telford. The only person who had any experience with Atlantis was Evan. Whenever updates and reports came in from O’Neill and Woolsey, Evan had to be on hand to advise, even if no one ever listened to him.

“It looks - wow.”

“I hope that’s a good wow.”

“It is. Just - I’m not really that good-looking, am I? I mean, I’m no John Sheppard.”

“Well, you don’t look anything like Sheppard, but yes you are that good-looking,” Evan said, sitting up straighter.

“You’re not just trying to flatter me?”

“Why would I want to flatter you?”

“Good point.” Rodney was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I still can’t see anything in the Magic Eye book. I think it’s going to make me cross-eyed.”

“Well, I tried.”

“There’s no rule that you have to do something for me for the ritual,” Evan said. He loosened his tie, stood up, started actually getting out of his uniform. Now that he wore his dress blues every day, he had several uniforms he rotated. One was at the dry cleaner’s, one was in his closet, and the other he wore for three days or till he was force to move on to the next one.

“It seems - considerate.”

“I appreciate it.” Evan smiled to himself. Most people wouldn’t describe Rodney as particularly considerate, but the man was trying. “Have you thought more about what you’d like to do? As far as getting the actual mark.”

“I still want you to do it.”

“Maybe the next time I’m on leave I can fly out there and at least get it started.”

“Started?” Rodney asked.

“A big or complex tattoo usually takes more than one session.” Evan finished hanging up his uniform, and then he sprawled back on the couch just in his boxers, undershirt, and socks. “Depends on if you want complex color changes or shading, and also how long you can sit still under the machine.”

“How long do you think my soulmark will take?”

“Not sure. We haven’t finalized a design yet.”

“True.”

“You still want a phoenix?”

“Yes, unless you have a different suggestion?”

“No. The more I thought about it, the more fitting it seemed. You constantly defy death. And you’re brilliant, like the sun. Bright like fire. You soar above everyone else intellectually, and also you’re rare and beautiful. It works. Also, it’s a pretty good symbol for a relationship, a constant renewal, even after trial by fire. For better or for worse and all that.”

There was no response.

Evan sat up straighter, frowned. “Rodney? You still there?”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I - a phoenix sounds perfect.”

Something in his tone was off. “Are you sure?”

“I am. Just - no one’s ever called me beautiful.”

Evan wasn’t surprised by that, but he was saddened by it. “Well, I won’t be the last, especially once you find your soulmate. So, I’ll work up some designs, all right? Email them to you.”

“That sounds good.”

“Anything else I can do for you, in the meantime?”

“No.”

“Are you eating right?”

“Yes, _mother.”_

Evan laughed. “Don’t you mean _who’s your daddy?”_

Rodney spluttered.

Evan laughed harder. “Take care, Rodney. I’ll send those along as soon as I can.” And he ended the call.

All right. A phoenix it was.

*

Evan’s big, old, fat, lazy orange tabby was named Garfield. That had been his name when Evan picked him out at the shelter. He was affectionate enough, but mostly old and lazy, left Evan to his own devices so long as he was fed and watered and occasionally cuddled, so Evan could work on the designs for Rodney’s soulmark in relative peace, without worrying about Garfield trying to sprawl across his sketchbook or steal his pencils and pens.

Evan wasn’t sure what kind of phoenix would suit Rodney best. He tried multiple designs, some in stark black and white, one that was entirely flame-colored with no black outlines that would be really difficult to do, one that was black and red, another that was just heavy black lines, almost tribal-looking. One ended up looking kind of like a henna tattoo. One looked more like a Chineses-style phoenix, with scales as well as feathers. Some of the phoenixes were ornate, detailed down to every strand of every feather. Some were stark, simple, more suggestive of a phoenix than an actual bird. Some were surrounded by flames. Some had wide sweeping wings, some had their wings curled protectively around their bodies. Evan drew them all.

He wanted Rodney to have as many options as possible. Of course, there was no guarantee that Rodney would pick one design and settle on it. That rarely happened, even with regular tattoos. Usually Evan would meet with the client, review designs, make some modifications, maybe combine a couple of elements from multiple designs. Given that this was Rodney’s first tattoo - and probably his last - Evan wanted to make sure it was a design he really loved.

Also, making art was incredible stress relief, because life at Homeworld Security had gone beyond dull and was downright frustrating. Colonel Telford was more politician than airman, as was Colonel Davis, and everyone just...forgot Evan was in the room.

Everyone had opinions about the Stargate Program and Atlantis and the new space battlecruisers.

No one had ever faced down a Wraith.

So Evan gritted his teeth and kept his head down and said a whole lot of _Yes, sir,_ and at the end of the day he went home to Garfield and drew.

And drew and drew and drew.

He considered emailing Rodney photos of the designs, but that wouldn’t do them justice, so he bundled up his portfolio and went down to the nearest copy center on foot to have copies of all of them made, packaged up, and sent to Rodney via commercial courier service.

The teenage girl working the copy center handled his designs very carefully.

“These look amazing. Did you do them all yourself?”

Evan nodded. “Thank you.”

“Are you an artist?”

“Ah, no, not by profession. I’m an Air Force officer. I work at the Pentagon.” Evan was wearing a scruffy old USAF t-shirt and comfortable jeans and was probably decorated with ginger cat fur despite his best efforts to keep his apartment clean.

“What are they for?” The girl handed back each original after she copied it.

“Designs, for a soulmark. I am a trained soulmarker in addition to being with the Air Force.”

The girl’s eyes went wide. “Wow. That’s so romantic.”

He shrugged. “It’s just a fancy tattoo. Not everyone who gets a soulmark finds their soulmate, and not every pair of soulmates ends up happily ever after. All I do is provide the ink. After that, he’s on his own.”

The girl looked him up and down. “Do you have a soulmate?”

“No, but I’ve had a soulmark for years.”

“Have you looked for your soulmate?”

What she was asking was terribly personal, but Evan knew she wasn’t trying to be rude. It was late at night and the place was otherwise empty, and she’d looked pretty bored when he arrived.

“Not really,” he said. “My sister’s a tattoo artist and also a soulmarker, so I let her soulmark me, mostly for practice.”

“Well,” the girl said, “I hope you find your soulmate.” She finished copying the last of the designs, and then she rolled all of the copies into a single scroll, inserted them into a tube, sealed it securely with tape.

“At the rate I’m going, I’d be grateful to find someone I like who can put up with me.” Evan filled out the address label as neatly as he could. It was a good thing he’d thought to ask for Rodney’s mailing address well in advance.

“Surely ladies really like a man in uniform. I mean - the Pentagon is pretty impressive, right?”

“Not impressive so much as boring. I was stationed pretty far abroad until recently, and no one was ever interested in waiting for me while I was gone for months at a time, so.” Evan shrugged.

“Well, now that you’re back Stateside, things should be better, right?”

“Right,” Evan said, even though she was wrong, because Atlantis had been home, and Evan felt more adrift than ever.

The girl put the mailing tube in the back to be sent out, and Evan paid, and then he stopped by his favorite Korean barbecue place on the way back to his apartment. Once he got back, he sprawled on the couch with Garfield, who was pretty good about not trying to steal his food, and watched a documentary about pointillism till it was time to turn in.

*

The girl at the copy center had told Evan that it’d take three to five days for his package to reach Rodney, so when Rodney called on day four just as Evan made it through the door, he wasn’t surprised.

“I thought you were going to email me the designs,” Rodney said.

Evan nudged the door shut, stooped to greet Garfield. “Hello to you too.”

“Yes, fine, hello, how are you, fine? I’m fine too. Which of these is my soulmark? There’s literally a dozen of them.”

Evan loosened his tie and went into his bedroom to finish changing out of his uniform. Garfield wove around his ankles, impatient for dinner, but a few more minutes wouldn’t kill him, and besides, Rodney was his priority right this second.

“It’s up to you, which one you’d like,” Evan said. “I wanted to give you options. If you don’t like any one completely, we could modify one or combine several designs. It’s your soulmark. It’s whatever you want it to be.”

He set his cell phone on speaker and put it on the dresser while he hung up his uniform.

“It’s - how long would each of them take?”

“The ones with colors would take longer than the ones without. Obviously anything with fine detail would take more time than something that’s less detailed. Something with color would probably take multiple sessions, but a detailed one in black-and-white could also take multiple sessions.”

“They all look amazing,” Rodney said. “I just - don’t know what to think.”

“I’m guessing you only got them today. You can take your time, think,” Evan said. “Have you even thought about where you’d want your mark to be placed?”

“Where does it hurt least to get tattooed?” Rodney asked.

“Well, some of the best places to get tattooed are the backs of the calves or upper arms, sometimes forearms. Any place that’s bony is pretty painful.”

Rodney hummed thoughtfully. Evan could hear papers rustling in the background. “Where are your tattoos?”

Evan looked down at himself. He didn’t often look at his own ink, because it was just...part of him. “I have a tattoo on my right upper arm and one over my heart. My soulmark is down the left side of my ribs.”

“You have a soulmark?”

“Well, I am a soulmarker. Also my sister needed the practice, so. Two birds, one stone.”

“But you don’t have a soulmate,” Rodney said slowly. “Wait - do you? Isn’t that something friends should know about each other?”

It was strangely warming, to hear Rodney refer to Evan as a friend. “No, I don’t have a soulmate.”

“What’s your soulmark of? If it’s not too personal.”

“Nothing fancy. It’s kind of - abstract, really. It’s a bluebell.”

“Like the flower?”

“Yes.”

“But - how will you see it move, once you find your soulmate?”

“No clue,” Evan admitted. “How someone’s tattoo animates is different every time, and often not in the way anyone would expect. You could put the same exact soulmark design on two people and they’d animate totally differently.”

“Why a bluebell?”

“It’s my middle name.”

_“Really?”_

“Yes, Meredith,” Evan said patiently.

“Oh. Right.”

“We’re getting a little off track,” Evan said. “Think about where you would want the tattoo to be, how big you would want it to be. That could affect which design you choose. Simpler designs reduce better than more complex designs.”

“Obviously,” Rodney said. “I - these look amazing. Can I keep them? Even if I don’t end up using them.”

“Sure. They’re all yours. I kept the originals anyway.”

“These must have taken forever. Thank you,” Rodney said quietly.

Evan traced a fingertip over the bright blue splashes on his skin that represented petals. “I honestly don’t know how long they took. I kind of lose track of time when I get in the zone.”

“I know how that goes,” Rodney said.

Evan asked, teasing, “Are you eating?”

Rodney said, “Who’s your daddy?”

Evan burst out laughing, startling Garfield, who skittered into the kitchen. Evan followed him, set about fixing his evening meal.

“I’m glad they arrived in a timely fashion,” Evan said. “Take your time, decide what you’d like, and let me know.”

“I will,” Rodney said.

“And if you pick a design that’ll take a lot of time, want to go with a different soulmarker, I’ll totally understand. Remember, this is all about you and your needs. I won’t be offended if you want to get your mark done as soon as possible.”

“I’ll let you know,” Rodney promised.

“Take care. And remember to eat.”

“Yes, mother.”

And the call ended.

Evan stared at his phone. He’d told Rodney the truth. He would totally understand if Rodney went with a different artist to get his mark done so that it actually got done. But he wanted the chance to spend a bit of time with Rodney again, if only for a few hours, long enough to get a tattoo.

“What do you think, Garfield? Think he’ll want to stick with me?”

Garfield didn’t even look up from his bowl.

*

Rodney was pretty sure he knew which design he wanted. Once he settled on a design, something woke in him. Some kind of yawning emptiness. He was alone. He’d rescued his cat from his neighbor, but it was like the phoenix had already gotten under his skin. He went to work, he came home, and he was alone. He didn’t have any friends at the lab at Area 51, not anymore. Everyone he’d known there before Antarctica and Atlantis had moved on. Unlike his old colleagues, who had learned to speak before he spoke to them (they thought it was to get his attention, for him it was to identify their voices), he couldn’t keep any of them straight, and they were lazy about wearing their name tags once they were in the labs, so they thought he was rude. He didn’t even want to think about trying to make friends outside of work. It was just him and his cat. The occasional video chat with John. Sometimes phone calls with Carson and Radek. Never Elizabeth, even though he’d left multiple voicemails and sent multiple emails.

His only real source of contact with Atlantis, with the place he’d thought of as home (and his barren little apartment was not home, though it now boasted the comfort of a piano), was Evan. Sure, he called and talked to Jeannie once in a while, but the person in his life who was really _in his life_ was Evan. They emailed back and forth at least daily. Rodney was pretty sure he had more contact in a day with Evan than he did with his lab mates. But Evan was far away and busy and possibly going out of his mind with boredom as well.

When the phoenix designs had arrived, Rodney had been confused, because he hadn’t been expecting a package, and he hadn’t thought to look at the return address on the mailing label, went straight to opening it.

All of the designs were beautiful, breathtaking. They represented possibly hundreds of hours of effort. Effort that Evan had gone through literally just for Rodney. They spoke on the phone, and Rodney did a lot of thinking (and staring at himself in the mirror), and he chose a location for his soulmark, and once he knew that, he chose a design.

And then he _wanted._ He wanted the ink in his skin, wanted to feel it come alive, wanted to know that he wasn’t alone in the universe, that someone was out there for him, inherently and unconditionally.

Oh, he knew it wouldn’t be that simple, that he’d have to find his soulmate and they’d have to develop their relationship, but he couldn’t help but want.

He felt terrible about it, but he researched some soulmarkers in the area, reached out to them to find out how long it would take to get his chosen design done, how much it would cost.

The cost was staggering.

“Soulmarking isn’t just about getting a tattoo,” one of the women said. “And it requires special ink. It’s going to be pricier than a regular tattoo by far.”

“Fair enough,” Rodney said. “Just out of curiosity, how much would the full soulmark ritual cost?”

The woman said, not unkindly, “Hon, I don’t think you could afford it on a government salary,” because Rodney had explained that he worked long hours at a government research facility and had a bit of a difficult schedule.

“Just tell me,” Rodney insisted.

She did.

Rodney ended the call, stunned. Evan hadn’t asked for a penny. Of course, he was a designated soulmarker for the military, was there to make sure people’s rights were being protected, that they could pursue happiness. But the effort Evan had gone to was above and beyond the sort of half-assed just-scraping-by Rodney knew was typical of government employees. That first meal alone would have been worth a small fortune at a restaurant.

Rodney would stick with Evan after all. Contrary to the other soulmarker’s belief, Rodney could afford to pay for a soulmark, but he’d started the ritual with Evan, and he knew he could trust Evan to do right by him, to put some of his heart and soul into what he put into Rodney’s skin.

He picked up his phone to call Evan, see about scheduling a time when they both could take off. Rodney was willing to go to DC since Evan had all his tattooing equipment there. But then his phone rang. Call from Carson. He was concerned about Elizabeth and the lack of responses he was getting to the multiple messages he’d left for her.

The plan was dinner, in Colorado Springs, with John as well to see her in person.

Rodney couldn’t say no to that.

Only midway through dinner all their phones rang, and they headed to the SGC.

And then back to Pegasus to rescue Atlantis (and Woolsey and O’Neill) from the Replicators who’d destroyed Helia and the Ancients.

And when Rodney finally saw Evan again, it was in Atlantis.

“Have you seen John?” Rodney asked the man who was in the command office when he got there (it was the third place he’d looked for John).

“Not recently,” the man said, and Rodney recognized his voice immediately. Evan.

“You came back with the Expedition.”

Evan nodded. “That I did. I heard about what you did. That was damn brave. And also slightly terrifying. Are you all right?” He crossed the office to check Rodney over.

“Yes, I’m totally fine,” Rodney said. He’d _missed_ Evan, almost forgotten what his voice sounded like in real life.

“I’m glad,” Evan said.

“About my soulmark,” Rodney said.

“Did you get it done? Can I see?”

“Ah, no. I was going to call you to schedule, but then - Atlantis. Replicators.” Rodney waved a hand. “I’ve settled on a location and a design.”

“Which design? I can start on the transfer now, and we can get started on your next designated Sunday. In fact, I can arrange it so our designated Sundays line up for the next while,” Evan said.

“I like the simple one best - the one that’s all black lines.”

Evan nodded. “All right. That’d be quicker to do, maybe all one session if you can sit still for a while.”

Rodney wasn’t sure about that.

“Where do you want it? How big?”

“I was thinking - across my back. Let the wings span my entire upper back.”

“That would look good. It’d take longer, of course, as it’s bigger. If you swing by my quarters once you’re off duty, I can measure your back and work from there.”

“Good. I’ll see you after supper.” Rodney nodded and turned to go.

Evan said, “Have you told Sheppard about this?”

Rodney paused. “Why?”

“If you get a tattoo this big - well, you shouldn’t do anything strenuous till it heals, which can take up to four weeks.”

“Heals?” Rodney echoed.

Evan nodded slowly. “Yes. A tattoo is basically...a deliberate wound. I’m going to be stabbing ink into your skin. If you’re not careful, you could damage the tattoo or, worse, get an infection.”

Rodney stared at him. _“Really?”_

“Yes.”

“You never mentioned that before.”

“I thought you knew. You know, needles, ink. If you don’t want to do it, I understand. Some people are afraid of needles and pain,” Evan said.

Everyone was afraid of needles and pain unless they were drug addicts or masochists, Rodney was pretty sure. He swallowed hard. “No. I want to do this. Just - let me talk to Sheppard. On my own.”

“If you’re sure -”

“I am,” Rodney said firmly. Because having a soulmate would be worth it. “Later, Evan.”

“See you tonight.” Evan smiled tentatively, and Rodney turned to go.

He got on the radio, asked about John’s location. He was down at the military residential atrium, having a chat with some of the newer Marines. Rodney went to find him. He hovered just beyond the transporter, watching the scene unfolding till he figured out which of the men in military uniforms was John. He recognized John’s voice quickly - John was pacing back and forth in front of the ranks of new Marines, hands clasped behind his back, posture very straight. Sometimes Rodney forgot that John was a military officer, with everything that entailed. No, John wasn’t uptight and he didn’t mindlessly follow orders, he was smart and actually kind of fun. But he was still a military officer. It was a career he’d chosen for himself, and he was proud of it.

He held himself differently when he was in his dress blues, and he held himself differently in moments like this, when he was doing commander-y things.

As soon as John was finished, Rodney elbowed his way into the crowd lest he lose track of John. “I need to talk to you. Privately.”

John turned to him, raised his eyebrows.

“It’s - fairly urgent,” Rodney said.

John nodded. “All right.” He turned to the Marines, dismissed them with a curt nod, and then he followed Rodney back to the transporter.

“So, what’s fairly urgent?” John asked once the transporter doors were shut.

Rodney punched in coordinates for the lab, because that was where he had to go next. “I’m planning on getting my soulmark.”

“Oh? Congratulations are in order, I suppose. And you’re telling me this why?”

“I’m planning on getting a fairly sizeable mark. I’m given to understand it’ll take up to four weeks to heal, and if I can’t sit still to get it done in one session, it could take another four weeks to heal after the second session. I’ve been advised to avoid any strenuous activity in the meantime. So - I probably shouldn’t be running around offworld.”

“Really?” John asked.

“That’s what Evan told me.”

The transporter doors opened, and Rodney headed for the lab, John on his heels.

“Evan?” John raised his eyebrows. “Right. Lorne. Designated soulmarker for the expedition.”

“I’ve never gotten a tattoo before, so it was news to me too,” Rodney said.

“Thank you for telling me.” John nodded. “A soulmark’s a big deal. We’ll just stand you down off gate travel till it’s all done.”

“Thanks,” Rodney said.

“A soulmark’s a big deal. I respect that. And - seriously. Congratulations. Hope you find your soulmate.” John clapped him on the shoulder and then peeled away, answering a call on his radio.

Rodney watched him go and felt unaccountably relieved. For the longest time the whole soulmark process had been just his and Evan’s, and for some reason he was - possessive of the whole thing. Hadn’t wanted to share it. But John was his friend. Of course John was going to be supportive.

After dinner, he’d check in with Evan.

*

Rodney raised his hand to sound the chime in Evan’s quarters, but the door slid open automatically for him.

Evan was standing on the other side of the door. “C’mon in. I’m all set up, if you’re ready.”

“Sure,” Rodney said, following Evan into his quarters. He’d never been inside them before, he realized.

They were neat and clean, just like John’s, but then that was probably a military thing. No one wanted to trip and faceplant when they were summoned to midnight muster because their quarters were messy. Evan probably knew where everything was at any moment.

Evan had a single, narrow bed, a desk with a stack of books, shelves for his clothes, a couple of laundry baskets.

And pictures everywhere. There was a collage of photos above his nightstand, paintings and sketches on the walls, and a Pink Floyd poster above the desk.

“So, what do you need me to do?” Rodney asked.

“Take off your shirt.” Evan held up what looked like a seamstress tape measure.

“Oh.” Rodney fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “Of course. Listen, I’m not especially muscular -”

“Rodney,” Evan said gently, “I’m not here to judge you.”

“And my back might be a little hairy -”

“I’ll shave you before we get started on the actual tattoo if it’s necessary.”

Rodney, who’d managed to work his shirt halfway up, froze. “Really?”

“It’s all part of the process,” Evan said. He added, amused, “I promise that a person’s back is not the most awkward part of them I’ve had to shave prior to doing a tattoo.”

“Well, when you put it like that.” Rodney peeled his shirt off and turned around.

“Excellent.” Evan set to measuring him. “Just relax. I need basic dimensions so I know how big to make the transfer. By the way, are you particularly thick-skinned, or thin-skinned?”

“Well, I’ve been criticized a lot in my life, but I handle criticism very well,” Rodney began.

“I meant literally, so I know what kind of needles to use,” Evan said.

Rodney twisted to peer over his shoulder. Evan was making notes of his measurements on a little yellow notepad. “Um. I’m not sure, honestly. I’ve never really had occasion to...assess my skin like that.”

“Do you know what kinds of exfoliants irritate your skin? Since we’ll have to exfoliate the tattoo area as well.”

“Also...no.”

Evan said, “All done. You can put your shirt back on, if you like.”

Rodney turned around, tugged his shirt on. “If I like?”

Evan shrugged. “Some people hate wearing shirts. I hate wearing shoes. So, we’ve technically completed the soulmark ritual, but there is one more optional phase, if it’ll make you feel better.”

“What is it?” Rodney eyed him warily.

“A massage.” Evan waggled his fingers pointedly. “Traditionally, a soulmark was a person’s first - perhaps only - tattoo, and back in more prudish times, having a stranger’s hands on you could be discomfiting, so the massage was to help a patron relax under a stranger’s hands, and also it gave the artist an opportunity to get a good sense of their skin.”

“So you’re also a trained massage therapist.”

“I know the basics. I have some gentle exfoliant we can try on your skin, and that way you’ll know what the process is like.” Evan ducked into his ensuite, returned with what looked like a bottle of lotion. “If it’s too weird for you, I get it.”

“No, I’d rather you know what my skin is like now than on the day of,” Rodney said, and he peeled off his shirt again. “Do you have a massage table, or…?”

“Unfortunately all I’ve got is my bed, which is a bit too low for me to stand beside, so I’ll have to kneel next to you, and it’ll be a bit cramped.” Evan’s tone was apologetic.

Rodney couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a massage, let alone one on someone else’s bed. Did Evan really do this for every person he gave a soulmark to? Except plenty of military types already had tattoos, could tell him what exfoliants worked on them, what their skin quality was like.

“Well, I have had an awful lot of tension in my neck and shoulders, so - why not?” Rodney plopped himself face down on Evan’s bed.

“You can take off your shoes, get more comfortable,” Evan said. “Let me go grab the rest of my supplies.”

Right. Shoes on someone else’s bed was rude. Rodney kicked his shoes off, managed to kick his socks off as well. A massage was sounding better and better.

A few moments later, Evan returned. “So, first, exfoliation, and then I’ll moisturize and protect your skin, and then do the massage. Also, you’d have less tension in your neck and shoulders if you didn’t hunch when you worked at your laptop.”

“Yes, mother,” Rodney mumbled into Evan’s pillow. Evan’s pillow smelled fresh and clean. His bed was surprisingly soft. Not as good as Rodney’s prescription mattress, but comfy all the same.

Evan laughed softly. “All right. This stuff is pretty neutral and won’t make you smell like a girl and is also absolutely citrus-free. Let me warm up my hands.”

Rodney heard the pop of a bottle cap opening, and then Evan’s warm hands were sweeping up and down his back.

“You are pretty thick-skinned,” Evan said. “But you have good skin. Not too oily, not too dry. Granted, you naturally have a good complexion, so I’m not surprised.”

“Thanks, I think?” Rodney said.

“Combination of good genes and healthy diet.” Evan’s hands were strong, solid, confident without being awkward.

Rodney didn’t usually let people touch him like this, had never been overly affectionate with previous lovers, but he didn’t mind Evan. Maybe because they’d grown close over this whole process. It helped that Evan narrated what he was doing so Rodney wouldn’t be surprised.

Evan helpfully avoided any spots that were ticklish, and then he moved on to moisturizing Rodney’s skin, which he’d never really cared to do, but apparently it was important after exfoliating.

And then the actual massage.

All that handling guns and piloting jets must have made for super strong hands, because when Evan dug his thumbs into the tight muscles along Rodney’s neck and shoulders, Rodney melted.

He offered a happy moan and tipped his head down, and Evan obliged him, working up his neck to the base of his skull, below his ears. Happy tingles shot down Rodney’s spine.

“I’m not going too hard, am I?” Evan asked.

“Perfect,” Rodney said.

Evan chuckled softly. “Nice to know I haven’t lost my touch. Yeah, you really are carrying a lot of tension in your neck and shoulders. I bet it causes you a lot of headaches.”

“People cause headaches,” Rodney murmured.

Again with Evan’s warm, soft laughter. “That they can.”

Rodney closed his eyes and relaxed beneath Evan’s hands. It was too bad he could only get one soulmark, because he’d do this again any day. Sure, when it finally came time to get the mark, it would be more painful than pleasant, but Evan’s hands on him were pretty awesome. Did Evan offer massages on Atlantis’s black market bartering system? Because he’d make a killing.

“So, for the actual marking,” Evan said, “you’ll go crazy if you have to just lay there for hours on end. You can get up for breaks as needed, but for the most part you’ll have to lay still. You should bring something to entertain yourself. A book. Maybe a movie on a datapad. I won’t be much of a conversationalist while I’m working.”

Rodney made an unhappy noise. He’d almost been asleep.

“Just think about it,” Evan said.

And that was the last Rodney remembered, because Evan’s hands swept up his spine and then his fingers skated along the muscles in his neck, and he fell asleep.

He woke several hours later, confused and disoriented, lying facedown on a strange bed. He wasn’t usually a tummy sleeper. He pushed himself up - and then he realized. He’d fallen asleep on Evan’s bed.

He sat bolt upright, horrified and apologetic. It was far past his usual bedtime. He peeked over the side of the bed and saw that a man was fast asleep on the floor, on what looked like a typical offworld bedroll, with one of those scratchy wool military blankets. Of course, soldiers could sleep any time, anywhere. The man was most likely Evan. It was his room.

Rodney still felt bad for basically stealing the man’s bed.

He fished around for his socks and shoes.

Evan stirred. “Rodney?”

“You can have your bed back,” he whispered. “I’ll be going now.”

“G’night,” was all Evan said, and then he was asleep once more.

Rodney tip-toed out of his quarters.

So, it was finally going to happen. His soulmark.

*

Evan’s ritual for preparing to give a tattoo was less about the ritual associated with getting a soulmark and more to do with how his sister had trained him to give tattoos in general. If he did everything in the order she’d taught him, he wouldn’t miss a step.

The first stage was prepping the transfer, so he had a template of the tattoo on his patron’s skin before he set any ink. Freehanding a drawing was one thing. Freehanding a tattoo was beyond Evan’s skill level, and his patrons deserved better, especially the ones getting soulmarks.

Evan spent the evenings leading up to Rodney’s soulmarking in his quarters, tracing the outline of the design from a photocopy of his original onto transfer paper using blue gentian ink, which was permanent enough that it would stay on Rodney’s skin while he worked but not so permanent that it would interfere with the mark itself.

He hadn’t been surprised when he woke up the morning after the very final phase of the soulmarking ritual to discover that Rodney had slipped out of his quarters during the night. On the one hand, he wouldn’t have minded if Rodney had woken him up so he could have his bed back. On the other hand, he was impressed with Rodney’s stealth.

Evan didn’t sleep easily in new places, and he didn’t sleep easily with new people close by, which had always made training exercises and new deployments difficult at first. (It had also made one night stands kind of a disaster for him, which was why, for the most part, he always left first while the other person was asleep, to save them both an awkward morning after.)

He’d been surprised that Rodney had agreed to the massage, let alone relaxed enough under Evan’s hands to actually fall asleep.

Evan had realized something, kneeling beside Rodney on the bed and watching him sleep.

He _liked_ the way Rodney looked in his bed.

He liked that Rodney could relax around him, that he and Rodney had inside jokes and knew a lot about each other.

He liked that he and Rodney had remained friends even back on Earth, during what they’d assumed was the end of the Atlantis Expedition, that they’d kept up with each other above and beyond the issue of Rodney’s soulmark.

He liked the Rodney liked his cooking, and that Rodney had been willing to teach him to play piano after decades of staying away from playing.

He liked dancing with Rodney, how Rodney felt in his arms.

Most of all, he liked Rodney.

He was in love with Rodney.

And he was drawing up the transfer for Rodney’s soulmark so he could go fall in love with someone else.

Evan knew a soulmark was no guarantee that someone would find their soulmate - after all, he’d never found his. But he’d suggested Rodney have a phoenix for a reason, because he had a knack for defying the odds. He’d survived situations that soldiers with ten times as much combat training wouldn’t have. He would find his soulmate, Evan was sure of it.

And because they were friends, Rodney would come tell him all about it, and Evan would have to smile and nod and be pleased.

Which he would be. He wanted, more than anything, for Rodney to be happy. He just wished that Rodney could be happy with him.

As Evan traced those bright blue lines onto the paper, he promised himself that he’d be happy for Rodney, no matter who his soulmate was.

For all the time he’d spent with Rodney, the time they’d gotten to know each other, he’d been surprised at the design Rodney had chosen, because it was so...simple. Everything about Rodney McKay was dazzlingly complex, from the way his mind worked to the way his feelings worked. Evan had expected him to pick a design with bold flaming colors or at least one with a lot of fine details, because Rodney paid attention to details.

But maybe the design he’d chosen was less about who he was and more about what he wanted in a soulmate. Someone bold, stark, clear. Not simple so much as focused, honest, up front.

Evan did hope that Rodney found his soulmate. He really did.

Because Rodney had chosen a relatively simple design, Evan finished the transfer quickly enough.

When their designated Sunday rolled around, Evan did his chores in the morning, had a big brunch, and then set about setting up an empty common room as a tattoo space.

He borrowed a massage table from Dr. Ambrose so Rodney could lay face down. He set up a work table for his tools and supplies. He found power cords so his machine could reach the table. He found a work chair for himself. He sent his needle tubes to the med lab so they could be put through the autoclave with some other metal medical supplies for sterilization.

He found heaters and fans as needed, some pleasant lights, and a music system, because he did like to work to music. He requisitioned a cooler full of drinks and snacks so the both of them could stay hydrated and so Rodney wouldn’t go into hypoglycemic shock.

Half an hour before Rodney was set to arrive, Evan sterilized his workspaces and the massage table (he used medical grade disinfectant, which he had to dilute, because the stuff was pretty toxic on human skin), covered his machine and cords in plastic, and then set about mixing his ink.

It really was a ritual, one step at a time.

Disinfect. Lay out covers. Lay out tools. Prep your workspace.

Mix your ink.

Evan could hear his sister’s voice in his head while he worked.

The secret to soulmarking ink, that set it apart from regular ink, was the special ingredient trained soulmarkers mixed in. One of the reasons a soulmark was so expensive was that the ingredient was rare. It was harvested and rationed by soulmark guildhouses. There was a very specific ratio of soul-dust to ink. Too little and the resulting tattoo wouldn’t be a true soulmark, wouldn’t animate in the presence of a patron’s soulmarked soulmate. Too much was a waste.

No one knew what the soul-dust was, just that it worked.

Evan knew what it was, though.

It was naquadah dust. He’d encountered it during his stint at the naquadah mine on P3X-407, and he’d told Bill Lee. There was a reason military designated soulmarkers didn’t have to ask for a price for the soulmarks they gave. The military’s designated soulmarkers had a steady supply of soul-dust.

Rodney arrived right on time.

“This is - kind of stark,” he said.

“I don’t have a permanent studio, so I have to improvise,” Evan said. He glanced up, smiled.

It always took Rodney a moment to focus on someone, really look at them and react to them when they interacted with him. Evan had learned that if he smiled and spoke first, he was more likely to get a response than if he hovered and hoped Rodney noticed him.

“I brought my data pad loaded with some e-books so I can read,” Rodney said. He eyed the massage table. “But if I’m going to be lying on that thing, that might make reading difficult.”

Evan said, “We can prop your data pad up on something so you can still reach it, if you like. Just - don’t move when I tell you not to move, okay?”

Rodney nodded. “Sure thing. So, shall we get started?”

Evan nodded. “Shirt off.” He swallowed hard and turned away right after he said it, because Rodney looked far better with his shirt off than he knew.

He pretended to fiddle with his tattoo machine some more, waited till he heard the creak of leather that was Rodney lying down on the massage table.

“Do you need to shave my back?” Rodney asked.

“No.” Evan glanced over his shoulder, saw Rodney wiggling to make himself comfortable.

Evan went to fetch a box, turned it upside down and set it beneath the head of the table, then set Rodney’s datapad on top of it.

“Can you reach that?”

Rodney had to strain a bit, but he could. Evan adjusted the box so it was closer to him.

“Thanks. Are you sure you don’t have to shave my back?”

“Pretty sure,” Evan said. “I did give you a back massage the other night. I know your back pretty well now, thanks.”

“Point,” Rodney conceded.

“So, I’m going to exfoliate your skin, then put the transfer on,” Evan said. “I’m thinking it’ll take about two hours to do the lines, and then you should take a break while I switch needles to do the shading. It’ll probably take me about four hours to do the shading, with a break halfway through if needs be.”

“This book is supposed to take more than six hours,” Rodney said, “and John promised it was a good one, so - let’s try it. All in one shot.”

All in one shot was better. One and done. And then Rodney could go on and look for his soulmate and things would be back to business as usual.

Sort of.

Evan wasn’t sure if it would be better or worse, to keep on being friends after this. Except Rodney really was his friend and he didn’t want to hurt Rodney by pushing him away -

No. No time to mope. He was a professional soulmarker. He had a job to do, and he was going to do it properly and well.

“All right. Here goes.” Evan had learned that if he had nothing else to say to a patron, talking them through the process was the kind thing to do, the polite thing, so there were no surprises, so they knew what he was doing and could warn him if he was going to do something that didn’t work for them.

First-time patrons were usually more interested in the process than frequent customers, who were familiar with the process, and unless they wanted to make small talk, they usually brought their own entertainment.

Evan talked Rodney through the exfoliation process, and then the transfer process, answered Rodney’s questions about gentian blue ink. He explained why, once the transfer was on, he was going to put Vaseline on the areas he worked on.

“So the ink isn’t absorbed by the surface of your skin and just goes in deep. Also it makes it easier to wipe away excess ink so I can see what I’m doing. There’s going to be an awful lot of rubbing and swiping, not just the needle.”

Rodney nodded, had his head turned to the side so he was sort of facing Evan while he listened.

“I’ve already got the ink mixed. The needle tube was sterilized in the autoclave in the med lab, so everything is clean. So much of training to be a tattoo artist is learning the rules for hygiene so all our patrons are safe,” Evan said.

“I should hope so,” Rodney muttered.

“You want to see the needle? Before I put it into the machine.”

“Isn’t it a gun?” Rodney asked.

Evan, who’d already changed gloves for the third time, paused. “What? Oh, no. It’s not a gun. We don’t call it a tattoo gun. It’s a machine. A gun is a gun and the machine is a machine. The part that makes it look like a gun isn’t part of the machine at all, just the needle and the tube.”

“How does the machine work?”

“Amperage controls the speed of the needle. I’ve got a nice new rotary machine, not a coil machine - those are a lot heavier, and I’d need two, one for lines, one for shades. Coil machines are still in plenty of use though. They’ve been the standard for about a hundred years.”

“Why is speed important?”

“That’s where the quality of your skin comes in,” Evan said. “Thin skin - slower needle. Thicker skin, I can go a bit faster. Once I’m done with the lines, I’ll switch to a different needle for the shading, and then I’ll have to slow down. ‘Needle’ is a bit of a misnomer, though. For shading, it’s actually multiple needles in one.”

“What happens if you go too fast?”

“Instead of a tattoo you get a nasty scar and the ink doesn’t stay in, just heals out,” Evan said.

Rodney twisted to look at him. “Have you ever done that?”

“No, but I tend to err on the side of slow.” Evan affixed the needle and tube to his machine, and then he smeared some Vaseline onto the line he wanted to work on. He made sure the needle had some ink. “Now, are you ready?”

“Will it hurt?”

“Mostly like a bit of a strong sunburn,” Evan said. “But if it hurts too much, let me know.”

Rodney took a deep breath. “Let’s do it. I want to find my soulmate.”

Evan nodded. “Here goes.” He fired up the machine.

Truth was, giving someone a tattoo was like drawing. Evan rested the machine on the back of his hand, held the needle tube like a pencil, and went to work. He had to plant his other hand on Rodney’s skin and stretch it out so it remained firm while he worked. That was the benefit of the blue gentian template - even if Rodney’s skin was distorted while Evan worked, once he let go of Rodney’s skin the lines would still be clean.

“That’s not as loud as I thought it’d be,” Rodney said.

“No, it’s not loud at all,” Evan agreed.

He had music playing quietly in the background, a mix of old hippy tunes plus some alt rock his sister always played in her shop. It reminded Evan of training in her shop, doling out little ankle butterflies for hours on end till she deemed him worthy of being a real tattoo artist.

“Can you reach your book all right?”

“Yes.” Rodney’s voice went muffled as he turned to face downward where his datapad was so he could read. “You’re right. It really doesn’t hurt that bad.”

“Let me know if it does and we can take a break,” Evan said.

“As if I’d ever keep quiet about physical pain,” Rodney said.

Evan chuckled. “True. Enjoy your book.”

Rodney’s response was a muffled _mm-hm._ He was already engrossed in his book.

Evan continued working. It took him a bit to find his rhythm, doing a line, wiping it clean, smearing on more vaseline, moving on, shifting his other hand to keep the skin firm, but sure enough he found it. Like riding a bicycle.

Two hours passed in a blink for Evan. One moment he was starting the outlines, the next Rodney was saying,

“Hey, it’s been two hours. Can we take a break?”

“Sure,” Evan said. “Perfect timing. Got the outlines done. How are you doing?”

Rodney pushed himself upright with a wince. “Pretty good. My book is good. How does it look?”

“Let me wipe off the excess and then you can see. We can break for half an hour. Stretch your legs, hit the head, hydrate, have a snack.” Evan wiped the last of the excess ink off of Rodney’s back. The outlines were neat and clean, if he did say so himself.

Rodney tried to twist to peer over his own shoulder, winced.

“Hey, no, don’t overdo it,” Evan cautioned gently. He offered Rodney a little hand mirror, then stood behind Rodney with another mirror, held it up. “Can you see?”

“No, tilt it down a bit more. Oh. Wow. I really like the wings. It looks really good. Can you go left? The other left.”

The way the phoenix appeared to move when Rodney’s muscles shifted under his skin was lovely. Evan could only imagine what the phoenix would look like once it was animate.

He swallowed hard.

Once Rodney had seen the tattoo to his satisfaction, he went to use the bathroom. He was still shirtless, seemed a little nervous as he darted across the hall to the nearest restroom. Evan shucked off his nitrile gloves and drained a bottle of water, had a snack. He sat well away from his work space, because he didn’t want to have to do a full decontamination again.

Rodney returned. “Where’d you get those cookies?”

Evan, mouth full of cookie, pointed to the mini fridge in the corner.

Rodney went to raid it, found the cookies Evan had baked. He bit into one with a happy moan, then sank down on the couch beside Evan.

“Wow, I’m really tired, and I did nothing.”

“Well, I am injuring you, so your body releases endorphins and adrenaline to counter that, and now you’re coming down, so I’m not surprised.”

Rodney glanced at him. “I never thought of a tattoo as an injury before.”

“Well, all body modification is deliberate injury in one form or another - piercings, tattoos, scarification.” Evan shrugged.

“It sounds so - horrifying, when you put it like that,” Rodney said.

“There’s a reason body modification is taboo in some cultures. For the longest time, a soulmark was the only tattoo a person ever got, and usually people didn’t bother unless soulmates ran in their families.” Evan shrugged again, finished his cookie.

“So, how does your tattoo machine work?” Rodney peered at it.

Evan was happy to explain it in further detail, show Rodney the needles. He pulled a new pair of gloves on so he could change the needle out, switch from a liner to a filler. He explained the differences between them, that he’d have to work at a bit of a slower pace. He mixed up some more ink for good measure. Talking about tattooing in general was better than talking about soulmates and romance.

“Can you tell me the big soulmark secret?” Rodney asked.

Evan, mixing up the next batch of ink, glanced at him sidelong. “What big secret?”

“What makes a soulmark different from a regular tattoo.”

Evan shook a little baggy of silvery powder at him. “The soul-dust, of course.”

“Yes, but what is it?”

“Most soulmarkers couldn’t tell you,” Evan said. “The guilds mine it exclusively, sells it for exorbitant fees - hence how expensive soulmarks are - and it’s rationed very carefully in each batch of ink.”

“Why can’t they tell me? The guild will kill them otherwise?”

Evan laughed. “That is the mystique they like to present, but no. Literally most soulmarkers don’t know what it is. There’s nothing like it on Earth. The guilds won’t let analysts get their hands on it, but it’s pointless, because your average analyst would be stumped anyway. Might as well call it magic.”

Rodney eyed him. “But _you_ know what it is.”

“Only because I used to be 2IC on an offworld naquadah mining operation,” Evan said.

“You mean it’s naquadah?”

“Yes.”

“Does the SGC know?”

“There’s a reason the military has designated soulmarkers for no fees. We can get as much soul-dust as we want.” Evan smiled.

“Do you think soulmarks are a remnant of Goa’uld technology?” The corner of Rodney’s mouth turned down.

“Ancient, more like. I’ve noticed that just about everyone who has soulmates in their family also has the Gene or the therapy took for them.”

“Are you the only person in the universe who suspects that?”

“I am the only soulmarker in Atlantis.”

Rodney’s eyes lit up. “Wait, so you know who in Atlantis has soulmarks?”

“Not everyone, but a few have come to me for tattoo touch-ups, including their soulmarks, and I’ve given out a few others since I transferred here.”

“So you could help me find my soulmate?”

Evan’s chest tightened. “Ah - I’m no matchmaker. I can give you the mark, but after that, it’s all you. Besides, your soulmate could be back on Earth.”

Rodney frowned thoughtfully. “Fair enough.” He stood up, stretched.

He was beautiful, skin pale and gleaming.

“Let’s get back to it, shall we?”

Evan nodded, and Rodney arranged himself on the massage table once more.

Evan fired up his machine, and he set to shading.

After two hours - when he was, indeed, halfway through the shading - they took another break.

“Are _you_ tired?” Rodney asked, sitting beside Evan on the couch once more. “You’re doing all the work.”

“By the end of six hours my hand will be pretty cramped up,” Evan admitted.

“Do you want a hand massage or something?” Rodney asked.

“Maybe after.” Evan smiled tightly.

And then it was back to work.

For the most part, Evan worked and Rodney read. Every now and again he’d pipe up about his book, how it was going so far, or giving his opinions on the characters’ stupidity and poor life choices.

Rodney’s voice was surprisingly pleasant, when he was just talking, when he wasn’t angry or frantic or in a desperate rush to save the base from imminent disaster. Evan could listen to Rodney forever.

Rodney even read a few excerpts of the book aloud, and that made Evan smile.

“Are we almost done?” Rodney asked. “Because I’m getting kinda twitchy, and it’s almost been two hours since our last break.”

“Almost,” Evan murmured gently, wiped away some ink so he could see his work.

He filled in the very last corner of the very last part of the phoenix’s right wing, and then -

“What was that?” Rodney shivered from head to toe.

Evan shut off his machine, sat back. His throat closed. The phoenix came alive, flexing its wings. The black ink shimmered and shifted, iridescent with yellows and oranges and whites, like flames.

“Evan?” Rodney tried to twist to look over his shoulder. “What’s going on? Am I going to get an infection?”

Evan swallowed hard. “No, Rodney. You’re fine.”

“Then what’s the weird itchy feeling? Did you do it wrong?”

Evan felt an icy burn down the left side of his ribs. “No, I did it exactly right. Your soulmark is animated.”

Rodney pushed himself up. “What?” He twisted and spun in circles, like a dog trying to catch its tail. “How? What does that mean?”

“That means somewhere along the way, you already met your soulmate, and they have a soulmark,” Evan said. He handed Rodney one of the little mirrors. “Do you want to see?”

Rodney snatched the mirror from him. “Show me.”

Evan held up the other little mirror.

“It’s beautiful.” Rodney’s voice was soft, awed. He turned and yanked Evan into a crushing hug. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I have to go tell John. I should put out some kind of announcement, reach out to everyone I know who’s soulmarked but doesn’t have a soulmate. It’s someone I already know. I’m going to find them.” He reached for his shirt.

“Not so fast.” Evan put a hand on his arm. “Aftercare.”

“What?”

“I need to clean and bandage your tattoo. Take the bandage off after three hours. Wash the tattoo with soap and water once a day - the shower or bath will do. And then moisturize it with this. You don’t need to bandage it after today. Wear light cotton shirts only till it heals.”

“That’s fine. My uniform shirts are cotton anyway.” Rodney accepted the bottle of moisturizers from Evan, fidgeted all the way through Evan cleaning and bandaging the tattoo.

As soon as the bandage was on, Rodney tugged on his shirt and bolted out the door, tapping his radio as he went.

“John! I need your help.”

Evan watched him go, pressed a hand to his side. He was only imagining the ache there. He was happy for Rodney. Really he was.

*

The news spread across Atlantis like wildfire. All kinds of people showed up out of the blue, people who had soulmarks but no soulmates, to see if their marks were finally animate. Evan cleaned up his workspace and his tools, returned the furniture and massage table, and went back to his quarters and did his best not to pay too much attention to the hubbub.

Of course Atlantis had a higher concentration of soulmarked than the average population, Gene-carriers with access to designated soulmarkers.

No one dared repeat Evan’s notion: what if Rodney’s soulmate was back on Earth?

So far no one had entertained the thought of his soulmate being on a different planet. As far as the SGC knew, soulmarks and soulmates were unique to the Tau’ri, perhaps only because they’d inherited more than just genes from the Ancients.

Three hours later, before bedtime, Evan radioed Rodney.

“Have you taken the bandage off and cleaned it?”

“Oh - ah, no. Not yet. I - can you help me? I can’t reach my back. I’m in my quarters now. And could you take a picture? So I can send it to Jeannie.”

“I’ll be right there,” Evan said, scooping up his camera.

He’d stared at the smooth golden skin of Rodney’s back for hours. A few more minutes wouldn’t kill him.

Only it wasn’t just a few minutes. Before bed every night for the next two weeks, Rodney tracked Evan down, and Evan cleaned and moisturized the soulmark. The tattoo was beautiful. Evan really was proud of it. It was some of his best work. Thankfully Rodney hadn’t had any offworld missions.

Instead there were Ancient ghosts to contend with, and the return of Lucius Lavin.

Evan did his best to stay busy, to keep his head down and tune out all the talk of Rodney looking for his soulmate. But whenever Rodney called for him, he went without hesitation, and he listened to Rodney recount his efforts to find his soulmate, and he wished he wasn’t so damn jealous.

Rodney was his friend. He was happy for Rodney. He knew Rodney was getting discouraged, that he hadn’t found his soulmate yet.

And then Evan and his team went offworld and discovered a planet that was, beyond explanation, worshipping Rodney. As it turned out, Rodney and Sheppard had been playing what they thought was an Ancient game of Civilization but actually was an Ancient experiment in technological development in society, and they’d been controlling the two nations on the planet.

Since it was their mess, Evan and his team got to stand down, and Sheppard and his team took over. Of course, Evan and his team had to be on-hand for backup, and after everything went down (and Elizabeth had yelled at Evan and Radek for also fiddling with the game) the chaos was over.

Rodney didn’t need Evan anymore. His soulmark was fully healed.

Back in the locker rooms, Evan peeled out of his uniform.

“How about another team movie night?” Reed asked.

Billick nodded. “Sure. I picked up a movie from Captain Vega. What do you say, Major?”

It wasn’t like Evan had anything special to do after dinner. “Sure.”

“I’ll get some popcorn,” Coughlin said.

Reed cleared his throat. “Sir.”

Evan reached for a clean t-shirt. “Hm?”

“Sir,” Reed said, more insistently.

Evan turned to him. “What is it?”

“Your tattoo. It’s _moving.”_

Evan looked down at his chest, confused, but that tattoo wasn’t moving. Then he looked at his arm, but no.

And then he realized - the others didn’t know one of his tattoos was soulmark.

He twisted, peered at his ribs, and saw blue petals falling endlessly, like raindrops, like tears.

“Sir,” Reed said, voice soft and awed, “when did you meet your soulmate?”

*

It had never occurred to Rodney that he was unaccustomed to failure, because, well, he was unaccustomed to failure. He’d always succeeded academically, and if he failed socially and romantically, well, those were second string to his research and his work. He hadn’t failed at playing the piano, not by a long shot. He’d simply chosen to do something else.

Not finding his soulmate was - hard. John shared Evan’s theory, that soulmates and soulmarking were related to the Gene, and Atlantis was filled with Gene carriers, so that theory bore looking into. Plenty of people on Atlantis had soulmarks as well, given how many of them were in the military and already had tattoos. Not a single one of those people was Rodney’s soulmate, though.

He’d been surprised at the number of people who came forward, looking to see if their soulmarks animated. Soldiers and civilians alike, males and females alike, people Rodney was pretty sure had never looked twice at him otherwise. It was kind of overwhelming, so many people he didn’t know. He couldn’t recognize their faces, didn’t know their voices. A good number of them had been new, either shipped out to Atlantis after the forced exodus by the Ancients or shipped out to Atlantis on the transfer just previous to it. Most of them seemed pleasant enough, enthusiastic enough about finding their soulmates.

Rodney saw a lot of different soulmarks, too. One Marine had Semper Fi tattooed down the back of his calf. He’d been surprised that Dr. Biro had a tattoo of a snake, starting with the tail between her breasts and the head somewhere down below the waistband of her pants. The snake had been beautiful, greens and blues and golds, the scales very detailed. He’d seen flowers, vehicles, portraits, even abstract tattoos that were just swirling shapes and colors. Everyone had admired his soulmark very much, awed by the way the phoenix shimmered, black ink layered with iridescent flame.

None of the soulmarks he saw animated, though. No one was his soulmate.

He got desperate enough to reach out to Jeannie by email, tell her that he had a soulmate out there, someone he’d already met before (please, let it not be Tunney or Kavanagh), someone who had a soulmark. Would she make inquiries for him? He wasn’t so desperate that he was going to go to an official soul finder, but he was getting close.

Rodney, Teyla, and Ronon were all very supportive of his efforts to find his soulmate, Teyla and Ronon likely because they didn’t understand the concept too well and had been influenced by romantic comedies some of the expedition members shared around. Rodney could tell that John wasn’t really interested in the details of Rodney’s quest to find his soulmate, so he did his best not to bother John about it.

The only person who really listened was Evan, every night when he came by to help Rodney clean and moisturize his soulmark. Rodney would talk, and Evan would listen, sometimes offer up his opinion about various people who’d come to talk to Rodney about potentially being his soulmate.

“Technically,” Evan said, “their soulmark should have animated at the same time as yours.”

“Even if they’re back on Earth?”

“Dr. Maxwell in Chemistry explained it to me one time. Naquadah’s unique properties are derived from the fact that, at the sub-molecular level, it’s comprised of a lot of mirror particles. That’s what allows it to provide so much energy, and also the reason it’s useful for establishing and maintaining wormholes.”

Rodney craned his neck to look at Evan, where he was rubbing lotion gently across Rodney’s back. “Really?”

“That’s his theory. It’s why the SGC hired him and sent him out here. He’s doing experiments in conjunction with Dr. Saxton back on Earth, testing the mirror properties of naquadah.”

Rodney realized this was the most Evan had said to him in a while. Usually he was quieter during the soulmark aftercare routine. “Since when do you talk to the chemists?”

“Maxwell and I spar sometimes. He’s a natural Gene carrier too.”

Maxwell, like Beckett and McKay, was a Scottish name. No surprise Maxwell was a natural Gene carrier.

“Maxwell spars?”

“He’s pretty good,” Evan said. “I think he used to compete in judo when he was in college. He’s tricky. A fun challenge without being too aggressive.”

Rodney said, “You and I should hang out again. Just do something - random. Fun. We’re still friends, right? Even though you’re done with my soulmark.”

“Yes, we’re still friends.” Evan capped the bottle of Aquafor and patted Rodney on the shoulder. “All done.”

But there was something in Evan’s tone that Rodney couldn’t read.

“I’ll plan it this time, since you did all the planning before.” Rodney twisted around to look at Evan. He wasn’t sure, but he thought Evan looked - upset. He didn’t dare ask if Evan was upset, though, because his ability to read faces was still terrible.

“Sounds good. Let me know when and where, and I’ll be there.” Evan waved and then left Rodney’s quarters, and Rodney felt strangely hollow when his door swished shut.

Over the next few days, Rodney contemplated. Why was he so upset that he wasn’t finding his soulmate? Probably because he _had_ found his soulmate and didn’t even realize it. If Evan had finished his soulmark and it hadn’t animated, well, he’d be just like Evan and just about every other soulmarked person on the expedition who didn’t have a soulmate. Yes, Rodney wanted to find his soulmate, but no, he didn’t actually subscribe to all that Hollywood claptrap about love at first sight and magically falling into bed together and then happily ever after. He hadn’t set himself up for disappointment. Or had he?

The next morning while he shaved, he stared at his reflection in the mirror (why he could recognize himself but no one else was a mystery, had been to all the physicians who’d seen him growing up, most of them quacks who thought he’d just _get over it)_. He’d hoped, foolishly, that he’d be able to recognize his soulmate, if not by face then at least by soulmark. Which was silly, because most people’s soulmarks weren’t visible, at least not when they were in uniform. He had hope that his soulmate would understand about his being face-blind, would be the one person who didn’t get offended if he didn’t recognize them on-sight.

He went to the mess hall to get breakfast, and while he was standing in line, he spotted Evan sitting alone at a table, eating a bowl of oatmeal and studying his datapad.

Rodney waved, but Evan didn’t respond, was distracted, but of course he was already wide awake and working. He went running in the mornings, and that probably woke him up pretty good. He didn’t even have a cup of coffee to hand. Once Rodney had a tray full of food, he headed toward Evan’s table.

“Hey,” he said, and started to sit, but then some anonymous blonde woman in a yellow-paneled jacket came to stand beside Evan, leaning in close to him.

“Hey, Major Lorne.”

Evan looked up at her and smiled. “Hey, Doc. How are you?”

Had his eyes always been so bright?

“I’m doing well, thank you. Listen, I was wondering if I could talk to you about getting my soulmark. You do soulmarks, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Evan drained the last of his coffee and stood. “Want to walk with me? So we can discuss this privately.”

“Of course,” she said.

Evan met Rodney’s gaze briefly, dipped his chin. “Later, Rodney.” And he stepped neatly around Rodney, the woman on his heels.

Rodney felt oddly hollow all over again. But there was no point in dithering, so he plopped down in Evan’s chair and wolfed down his breakfast.

After breakfast, he headed into the lab to check his emails, because he’d reached out to Jeannie and even Tunney back on Earth to see about seeing which of his old acquaintances was soulmarked and recently had had their soulmark animate seemingly for no reason at all. Communication was slow because the databurst only happened once a week. Jeannie didn’t know as many of Rodney’s old acquaintances, and Tunney was only helping him grudgingly, and Rodney didn’t have high hopes.

His hopes sank further and further over the next few days when all his attempts to schedule a time to hang out with Evan were foiled by other people. Rumor had it that with Rodney’s success, a lot more people were going to Evan to get their soulmarks, so it made sense that he was busy, but Rodney couldn’t shake the notion that Evan was avoiding him. Whenever he ran into Evan in the hallway, he’d smile first, nod, wave, initiate interaction. Evan always responded, but his response was always brief, guarded. Distracted. Distant.

Was their time together really just professionalism all this time? Including all the phone calls on Earth, the jokes they shared, trading videos of music and art?

Rodney was disappointed. Hurt. He’d gone through a lot of effort to find his soulmate only discover that he’d already met his soulmate without even knowing it, and the person he’d imagined was his friend was pushing him away or was maybe never really his friend at all.

“You got a crush on Lorne or something?” John asked one day at lunch.

Rodney rolled his eyes. “I was just being polite. You and Teyla are always getting after me to be polite.”

“You never say hi to anyone but Lorne, though,” John said.

“I say hi to you,” Rodney protested.

“If I say hi first. I’m starting to feel unloved.” John’s tone was light, teasing, but Rodney realized.

He twisted around in his chair, scanned the mess hall crowd of anonymous faces and assorted uniforms - and there was Evan, sitting at a table with three other men military uniforms.

Rodney’s pulse roared in his ears. He could _recognize_ Evan.

Why? Why could he recognize Evan? What the hell would his soulmate think, knowing that Rodney could recognize some random soldier but not his own soulmate?

Unless the doctors had been right all along, and his inability to see faces was psychological, not physiological? What about his interaction with Evan was different from everyone else, that he could recognize Evan’s face and not John’s or Teyla’s or Ronon’s even though they’d all been through mortal peril dozens of times?

Rodney’s head spun with questions.

No. Why he could recognize Evan was less important than finding his soulmate. He’d spent all that time with Evan so he could find his soulmate, and he shouldn’t let Evan distract him from finding his soulmate.

Unless Evan was his soulmate?

Except Evan would have noticed by now, right? That his soulmark was animate. And he’d have said something.

“I don’t have a crush on Evan,” Rodney said finally.

Teyla said, “I am pleased that you and he are able to be friends.”

Ronon said, “Your love tattoo is really cool. Maybe I’ll ask him to do some Earther-style ink for me.”

“It’s called a soulmark,” John said patiently.

Ronon shrugged and continued eating.

Evan was Rodney’s friend. Rodney wanted to believe that. He hadn’t been judgmental about Rodney’s first name, had even helped him start playing piano again. If anything, he’d be understanding about Rodney’s condition. And as a professional soulmarker, maybe he’d have some information about how Rodney’s condition had been altered now that he had a soulmark.

So Rodney would figure out what he and Evan could do to hang out, for bro time or whatever the kids were calling it these days, and they would talk.

*

Being able to recognize Evan was very, very strange. Rodney was drawn to him wherever he was in a crowd, because he was the only person Rodney knew. It was like stepping into a room full of international scientists and being able to pick out the single person speaking a language he understood - he’d catch their voice in the crowd and once he had it, it would become clearer, louder, and he could follow it till they were face-to-face and able to properly converse.

A couple of times Rodney lost track of John in a crowd because he was focused on Evan, which had resulted in some awkward and embarrassing moments, like him talking to who he thought was John and some Marine saying, “I’m not Colonel Sheppard, sir,” when he and Rodney were halfway to the labs.

No matter. Soon Rodney would have everything sorted out, because he’d managed to pin Evan own long enough to get on the man’s calendar. He’d taken the initiative of emailing Evan’s teammates (and thus guaranteeing the messages would get to the right people) and making sure they didn’t plan any team events at the same time, and now Rodney and Evan were going to spend a designated Sunday evening together playing chess and racing RC cars. Rodney had built an elaborate race course in one of the unused common rooms. If he’d tested the course a few times to make sure the obstacles could actually be overcome, well, it was natural he’d have an edge over Evan. He wasn’t trying to cheat.

Evan arrived right on time, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. He smiled, but Rodney was pretty sure it wasn’t like his usual smile. Granted, now that he could actually recognize Evan’s face, he was realizing just how bad he really was at reading facial expressions if there was no tone of voice to go with them.

“Hey, this is pretty elaborate. What’s the plan?”

“Racing RC cars, pizza, and if you are so inclined, chess.” Rodney gestured to the spread he had on the table, a box of pizza he’d ordered special from the KP Marines, his favorite chessboard, and the two RC cars.

Evan’s smile brightened. “Racing cars sounds pretty awesome. You do remember I’m a fighter pilot, right? Good hand-eye coordination, lots of experience controlling machines that go really fast.” He went to stand beside the table, picked up one of the cars.

“I made sure all the batteries are fully charged,” Rodney said. “And I’m not a shabby racer myself.”

Evan turned the car over in his hands, tested the wheels. “What’s the prize?”

Rodney paused. “Prize?”

“Gotta make the race interesting.”

“Bragging rights?” Rodney offered.

Evan raised his eyebrows.

“What kinds of things did you bet in...pilot school?”

“Chores, usually. But we have maintenance crews here.”

“Some kind of favor, then,” Rodney said. “Loser cooks for the winner.”

“You a good cook?”

“Better than people think, because a lot of restaurants don’t take my citrus allergy seriously.”

Evan considered for a moment, then nodded. “All right. I’ll take that bet.”

“Excellent. Let me walk you through the course so you know where your car needs to go, and then - gentlemen, start your engines,” Rodney said.

“Sounds good.” Evan set the car down and followed Rodney to the starting line.

“By the way,” Rodney said, because he might or might not have carefully rehearsed what he wanted to say, “have you ever heard of someone’s physiology changing after their soulmark animates?”

“Apart from the soulmark animating?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well - I’m face-blind.” Rodney had literally never admitted it aloud like that to anyone outside his immediate family. With physicians he’d always used the proper medical term even though those so-called professionals were hacks.

Evan turned to him, brow furrowed. “I - you can see.”

“Yes, but I can’t recognize or remember people’s faces.”

Evan blinked. “But - you have teammates and friends. You talk to people.”

“I know my teammates’ and close colleagues’ voices, or people have identifiable marks, like John’s black wristband.” Rodney crossed his arms over his chest, feeling defensive.

Evan was quiet for a moment. Then he cleared his throat. “That’s why you never say hello first. I always figured you were just distracted or something, that it was best to talk to you to get your attention but - that’s how you know who’s talking to you, isn’t it?”

Rodney nodded.

“And that’s why you never know people’s names.”

Rodney nodded again, tightly.

“Everyone thinks you’re rude.”

“I’d rather be rude than blind.”

Evan said, gently, “It’s okay to ask for help. It would have been easy, to get name tags for everyone.”

“It was easier, when I was at the SGC and people had their names on their uniform or ID badges. But - I adapted. I always have.” Rodney looked away.

“Do you want me to get name tags for people?”

“No, that isn’t why I told you. Now that I have an animate soulmark, I can recognize faces.” Rodney met his gaze.

“Ah. You’ve been saying hi to me in the halls lately. That’s what was different.” Evan took a breath. “I’ve never heard of the soulmate bond having that kind of physiological effect on someone, like a healing effect. Is it strange? Seeing everyone’s faces?”

Rodney cleared the throat. “Here’s the thing, the only face I recognize is yours.”

“Mine?” Evan echoed. “Why me?”

“I don’t know.” Rodney shrugged.

“What do you see? When you look at other people’s faces. Do other people even have faces?”

That was what every doctor had asked since Rodney was a small child. Unlike those doctors, Evan didn’t sound morbidly fascinated, just curious.

“I can see faces - eyes, nose, ears, lips. But - it’s like seeing a language I don’t know. I know it’s writing, but I can’t read it,” Rodney said. He couldn’t help but cross his arms again, embarrassed.

“I confess, I’ve never heard of anything like this happening, but if you like I can reach out to the soulmarker guilds back on Earth.” Evan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe you should have Carson check you. Does Carson know?”

“No one knows besides my family and some quacks calling themselves physicians back in Canada,” Rodney said flatly.

“Do you want me to get name tags after all? Only being able to recognize me isn’t that helpful.” Evan looked at him.

“The system works. I don’t want to put people out,” Rodney said, which was a lie. His condition was no one’s business but his own. And his soulmate’s. “One of the reasons I asked you about it is - I don’t think my soulmate, whoever they are, will understand that I’ll never be able to recognize them but for some reason I can recognize you.”

Evan said nothing. Then he nodded. “I understand.”

Relief flooded Rodney’s limbs. “You do?”

“Yeah. I really do get it. It’ll be weird for you, once your find your soulmate, so once you do, I’ll make myself scarce.”

Rodney sighed. “Oh, good, you totally - wait, no, that’s not what I meant at all.” He shook his head vehemently.

“Then what do you mean?” Evan asked.

Rodney met his gaze, took a deep breath. “One of the reasons I wanted to get a soulmark was so I could be with someone who’d understand my being face-blind, someone I could identify on sight by their soulmark, but - I realize now that won’t work out, since most people’s soulmarks are covered and, for whatever reason, I can recognize your face but wouldn’t be able to recognize my soulmate’s. And then I thought - why do I have to be with my soulmate? There’s no rule I have to be. Why couldn’t I be with you? I like you, and I can recognize your face. I’m still really bad at reading facial expressions though. You - you’ll have to tell me if you’re mad, if I can’t tell from your voice.”

Evan studied him for a long moment. “Are you sure you like me and not just the fact that you can recognize my face?”

“Yes. I - I think I liked you before I could recognize your face. I mean, obviously I like you, we’re friends. But - a couple of times, I thought being more would be nice. Of course, even I could tell it’d be crass to hit on a soulmarker when I’m ostensibly in search of my soulmate.”

Evan tilted his head, considering, and his gaze went distant. “What if you found your soulmate? What then? You’d just leave me?”

“No.” Rodney shook his head firmly. “I’m not that fickle.”

“If we’re not soulmates, you and me - that’d be against regs. You’re not especially good at hiding things.”

Rodney hadn’t even thought of that. “Oh.”

“Nothing will happen to you if we get found out, but - I’d get sent down.” Evan looked away, his gaze still distant.

“I’d try to be discreet. For us.”

Evan looked at him again. “What if I found my soulmate?”

Rodney hadn’t thought of that either. “Well, if you found your soulmate, it’d be up to you, whether you stayed with me or not, wouldn’t it?”

Evan said, “What if I’ve already found my soulmate?”

That set Rodney back on his heels. _“What?”_

Evan lifted the hem of his shirt, and Rodney saw, down the left side of his ribs, a swirl of ink in shades of blue interspersed with splashes of black. A blue flower, with blue petals falling, falling, falling. He watched the ink travel down Evan’s skin and vanish at his hip, and then he felt heat spread across his back.

His heartbeat surged, and he knew. “You’re my soulmate.”

“I think you’re right.”

Rodney pressed a hand to his own shoulder, felt his soulmark stirring to life. “Why didn’t you say?”

“I didn’t even realize my soulmark had animated. I don’t really look at my own tattoos.” Evan shrugged helplessly.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Tonight,” Evan said softly. “But I thought you’d want it to be someone else. It seemed like you’d rather it was someone else.”

Rodney shook his head. “No. I - I think I was disappointed, that it was someone else. I’ve been looking for my soulmate, but I’ve missed you. Us. We talked more on Earth than we do here, and on Earth we had a whole continent between us. Here we’re in the same city.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Evan admitted.

“You don’t have to miss me anymore.” Rodney stepped closer. “Can I kiss you?”

Evan caught Rodney’s wrist, guided Rodney’s hand to the warm, smooth skin at his hip. “Yes, please.”

So Rodney closed his eyes and leaned in, and he felt his whole body come alive.

*

It was a good thing Evan knew Atlantis so well, or they wouldn’t have made it back to his quarters so quickly and stealthily. The door opened without him having to gesture, and then they were stumbling toward the bed, tugging at each other’s clothes.

“Wait,” Evan said, “I want our first time to be special.”

Rodney nipped at his mouth, fumbling at his belt. “I’ve wanted to take you to bed since the first time I ate one of those chocolate espresso cookies.”

Evan pulled back from the kiss, startled. “Really?”

“They’re really good cookies.” Rodney mouthed along his jaw.

Evan’s pulse fluttered. “I’ll have to make you some more.”

“Sounds good. But first -” Rodney finally managed to unbuckle Evan’s belt, started on the button of his fly.

Evan caught him by the shoulders, kissed him slowly, reached down and stilled his hands. “Rodney. We have all night. And the rest of our lives.”

“Which could be very short, because this is Pegasus.” But Rodney took a deep breath, stilled.

Evan kissed him again. “We’ve been friends for a pretty good while, but we still don’t know each other as well as we should before we get to this stage in a relationship.”

“We’re adults. We don’t have to hold hands and count our bases.”

“I like to take things slow.”

“Fair enough.” Rodney cleared his throat and stepped back, tugged the hem of his shirt down over his pants. “I just - need a cold shower or something.”

“Another thing - we need to tell Sheppard and Weir.”

Rodney’s eyes went wide. “Way to kill the mood.”

“Not right this second. But there are rules, both for the military and the expedition, about soulmate pairs. Designed to keep us and others around us safe.”

“You are such a boy scout.” Rodney rolled his eyes and turned away, plopped down on the edge of the bed.

“I want to keep _you_ safe.” Evan sat down beside him.

“You and every other soldier here.”

“Me your soulmate.” Evan reached out, laced his fingers tentatively through Rodney’s.

Rodney squeezed his hand gently. “Fine. So - what. I just go back to my quarters now?”

“You can sleep here if you want.”

“Just sleep?”

Evan squeezed his hand back. “I do want our first time to be special. But you’re incredibly hot, and maybe more than once I’ve imagined blowing your mind.”

“My mind?”

“Your other mind.” Evan grinned.

Rodney yanked him into a kiss, and after that words weren’t necessary.

*

Hours later, they lay drowsing in the darkness. Rodney thought the lights on dimly, and then he reached out, traced along Evan’s soulmark.

Evan hummed happily, pressed a brief, sleepy kiss to Rodney’s bare shoulder.

Rodney watched the ink move and shift beneath his fingertip. Reacting to him and his touch, he realized. Had his soulmark done the same for Evan? How had it taken them so long to figure it out?

No matter. They had each other now.

Rodney thought the lights out and curled closer to Evan, absorbing his warmth.

He felt the phoenix wings flex and flutter, and as he drifted off, he realized Evan was right - he had defied the odds again, found his soulmate as soon as he got his soulmark, and he was damn lucky, because his soulmate was someone he’d already liked.

Now, they could sleep.

And tomorrow, they could live their lives.


End file.
